Salt, Brine, & Fire
by abitbasic
Summary: Greyjoy and Baratheon, the union of the greatest naval strength and the crowned stag. Theon thought it'd be easy, but he never accounted for the wild princess or the folding of the Northmen down south. Little did he know that his relationship would end up opening a more severe can of worms. Follow the tale of Theon and his endeavors with princess Cirilla.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

_Cersei_

He wasn't even there. Somehow, in the middle of her pain, all she could think of was how much she loathed her husband. White hot and searing between her legs, she had been forewarned of the agony of childbirth, but she never expected it to feel as if she were splitting in two. Between short breaths and the midwife telling her to take deeper ones, Cersei shot her a venomous green glare. This was Robert's child. He should have been there with her, holding her hand like a proper husband, and listening to the sound of her teeth gritting as she refused to scream out. The babe would come out and Cersei would live with it.

"You're almost there," Jaime's voice was in her ear as he wiped sweat from her brow. Had he not been holding her hand she would have lost it by now. With the coming of this child it reminded her of her shattered perception of how the world was. She had been hopeful, dreaming, and naive. When she had gazed up at Robert Baratheon the day of their wedding, she had thought he was the handsomest man in the Seven Kingdoms and that she was the luckiest maid. The feeling faded abruptly when he had crawled onto her stinking drunk and called her Lyanna, the dead Stark girl that he had waged a war over.

Had it been too much to believe that he might see past the dead cunt and see his wife? Cersei was the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms and yet he was hung up on someone whose bones were half a world away. The warrior king who had taken the throne by force was now beginning to wilt away like a flower out in the desert. His solid abs were gone and his hair was becoming unkempt and unruly. To think that all it took was a crown to reduce such a man and maybe Aerys would have given it to him and just waited, Robert would have just dispatched himself.

A childish hope still clung to her, as if this child of his would change his terrible habits. Would he see this babe and melt betwixt her fingers? All of her prayers rode on the offspring of Robert. The creature that was turning her womanhood in a mess. Part of her feared that it would never be the same and she'd just have a gaping hole where it had been. At least Jaime was here. Father had sold her like a goat to a Dothraki. _Never. I will never allow that to happen to any daughters I have, _she promised.

"Your grace, nearly there!" the midwife told her.

"You said that several times already? Is the blasted thing out yet?" Cersei snarled through her clenched teeth. She didn't need fake encouragement, she needed the child out of her. The contractions made her feel as if all of her bowels were going to fall out on the bed.

"Here we are. Here we-" the midwife pulled something out from between Cersei's legs and an immense pressure left her. Collapsing back into the bed, her golden curls splaying around her, Cersei trembled from the effort as Jaime placed the damp cloth against her brow. He looked so handsome in his white armor, even if she had soiled some of the snowy white with her blood.

"Where… Where is my child?" Cersei demanded. She didn't hear crying. Why was the baby not crying? Fear seized her and she tried to sit up, the pain making her gasp in agony. "_Where is my baby?_!" she screamed, her eyes like wildfire as she sought out the midwife.

Jaime left her, sensing his twin's desperation. He approached the midwife and bent over her as she had a little body swaddled and just as Cersei was about to weep, a tiny cry fixated her attention. All of that work just to have a stillborn growing within her for all those months. But when Jaime turned around, he had the baby in his arms that was softly sniffling.

"She wants her mother," Jaime told her, arching a brow at Cersei.

A cry choked in the back of her throat as Jaime brought her first borne over. The soft cotton between her arms and when she gazed upon the girl, she espied the dark crown of hair, so much hair. She had grown all of this in the womb? The idea of that made giggle as she inspected the babe from her dainty nose to her chubby cheeks.

"She's got Robert's look doesn't she?" Jaime noted, as he sat on the edge of the bed and gazed down on his niece. Even if he hated Robert, he couldn't hate a baby that had not been asked to be born.

Cersei tickled the baby's nose with her fingertip. The child cooed and blinked open her eyes for a brief moment, they were the bright electric blue that Robert had. No this babe might have Robert's dark hair, but she would be Cersei's daughter. "She has mine," Cersei retorted, tucking some of the hair behind her daughter's ear. "Cirilla. My sweet princess." Even in her exhaustion she had the energy to press her lips the head of her daughter.

_I will protect you. You and your siblings to come. _

* * *

The only of her children that was actually Robert's, Cirilla. It didn't matter to Cersei, she had still birthed the girl, even if she was not fortunate to have Jaime as her father. They all belonged to her pride and Cersei would defend them with tooth and claw. What she wasn't looking forward to was the inevitable marriage of her eldest daughter. Unlike other noble mothers, Cersei had little favor or taste for imagining what kind of match she could make for either of her daughters. Myrcella was too young to consider marriage, but Cirilla was at the pinnacle of betrothal age and she knew it was only a matter of time before Cersei was forced to put her in the hands of a man. Even the idea of it made her skin crawl in disgust. She had promised long ago, at Cirilla's birth, that none of her daughters would suffer a fate like her own. Living a gilded lie. Was it so wondrous to be queen when you hated your husband? Once she had imagined that both she and Robert would make fair rulers, but that had been proven false in the very first year of their marriage.

Robert never listened to her, her words were just whispers in the wind, unworthy of his time even though he employed his foolish brothers to watch after the kingdom for him. No one loved Stannis, though he might have been a good commander. Renly was loved by many, but Cersei could see past the printed doublet and into his narcissistic heart, his lecherous looks at men. And Robert was so blind that he favored the wrong brother.

"Mother, mother Tommen is doing it again!" her eldest son, Joffrey strode in, a magnificent mirror of his father when he had been in his teens. Her golden hair swept across his brow and he wore the finest Lannister crimson, his fair face purpling at the thought of his youngest sibling doing something he didn't prefer. No matter how Cersei tried to reign him in, Joffrey listened to no one. Only Cirilla managed to make the prince catch his tongue from time to time.

"And what is he doing my sweet?" Cersei asked from her lofty perch in the private gardens that overlooked the ocean. A gentle wind tousled her loose hair, a crystal chalice poised in her hand as she enjoyed Arbor Gold that fine afternoon. She ignored the Hound that was hovering closely to her son. Why the boy had such a keen interest in Clegane was beyond her. He was just ugly to have around, but he certainly was up to the task of protecting her beautiful son.

"He's taken my practice sword to the yard with Uncle Jaime. And you _know _that it's mine," Joffrey snarled, his handsome features marred by the fury that clutched him.

"Haven't you outgrown that sword?" Cersei asked him, recalling the aluminum sword he was referring to. The light weight and balance made it easier for a child of Tommen's size to heft and the aluminum meant it could be gilded in silver, gold, and platinum like a real sword.

"It doesn't matter," Joffrey told her thinly. "Is Casterly Rock not your home? Wouldn't you be upset if someone stole that from you, even if you don't live there?"

Cersei couldn't suppress a chuckle at him, he gave her a dithering look as she laughed in spite of this plight. "I do believe that the whole of Casterly Rock is a bit different from a toy sword, Joffrey. Let your brother have that one and I'll have a real sword made for you."

Joffrey was still sulking, but he pulled the chair out across from her. "A real sword?"

"Yes, befitting for the crown prince. Design it however you like and it shall be made," Cersei promised him.

Joffrey snorted and poured himself a cup of the expensive vint in front of him. "Has father told you?"

Cersei stiffened at the mention of her king husband. "Told me what?"

Bright green eyes sparkled in delight of knowing something his mother did not. What would he tell her? Did she know that he frequented his bed with whores? That the last time they really had fucked it had been years ago? Did he tell his son how much he hated her? "We're going North to entreat Lord Stark or something," Joffrey waved his hand dismissively as he sipped at the wine.

"Not too much before lunch, you'll spoil your appetite," she chastised, half in thought as she pulled the flagon away from him. "When did your father mention this?"

"This morning. He summoned me to talk about how Eddard Stark has a daughter about my age. Then he began talking about Jon Arryn and how he trusted 'Ned like a brother'," Joffrey rolled his eyes.

_Why have I not heard of this? What good are all of these eyes and ears if they don't hear about the biggest details before my son? _She forced a smile on her face. This was not new. She had been well aware that Robert had wished to replace Jon Arryn with Ned Stark. However, she doubted that a Stark would travel south, especially seeing what had happened to three of them nearly two decades ago. If he intended on making the journey to Winterfell, it was to assure that Eddard would return south with him.

"And when did your father plan to inform me?" Joffrey probably did not have the answer for that, but her bitterness consumed her as she sloshed the wine around in her glass.

"Likely tomorrow when he planned on departing. All of us are to go," Joffrey shrugged, heat touching her face at his nonchalance. Cersei was the fool in this situation and her son was feeding her the pieces like singular grapes, seemingly enjoying that Cersei was cross. "I may have told Ciri and Myrcella in passing."

"_Wonderful_," Cersei spat, her relaxing morning ruined by news that the entire royal family was about to be uprooted. Did Robert not see how dangerous that was? They had no protection and moving the entire family made them huge targets. Sure, there was no war to worry about, but who was to say that there weren't Targaryen supporters out there waiting for the perfect time to slay the Usurper and his spawn? Worst of all, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen weren't even his children and they'd be killed all the same.

Sweeping herself out of the chair she left the chalice on the table and moved like a dervish back up to Red Keep. Her tempers were flaring and when one of her dreaded handmaidens asked her if anything was needed, Cersei didn't hold back the hissing. She'd always despised the servants getting in her way. At this point in life, she only tolerated her eldest daughter's assistance and often lit all her own candles. The stupid misty eyed girls of the south from some petty lordling did nothing but irritate her temper.

"Mother," while in her vexation, she passed Cirilla, who was sitting on a marble bench by her favorite hydrangea bush which was blooming in a vivid periwinkle. "I see you have heard the news," she snapped the journal on her lap shut and joined Cersei.

"Going north to Winterfell with the whole family? Is your father mad?" Cersei spat furiously.

Cirilla cocked her head and shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Eh, you know that is debatable mother."

"If he wants to go, let him, but taking Joffrey as well is dangerous. Uprooting you all for such a long and pointless journey…"

"Why, do you really think Eddard Stark will decline father if he goes there in person?" Cirilla arched a dark brow at her.

"I could care less. I just care about the wellbeing of my children and this whole debacle puts you all at risk. What is in the north that would really warrant bringing the whole family?"

"Oh, but the northerners and their summer snows mother!" Cirilla spoke in a girlish, cherubic voice that was filled with hope and wonder, even though she was clearly making a mockery of the very idea. The Lannister glanced at her daughter and couldn't help but breathe a laugh. _Sometimes I think Tyrion spends too much time with her. _As much as she loathed her brother, Cirilla was not a coddled or foolish young lady. Unlike her sheltered siblings, her bright blue eyes saw the truths around them. Cirilla knew that her father was not loyal or that men truly had good intentions. The romantic novels about knights being kind and courteous only betrayed a sliver of the truth. Men only wanted one thing and Cirilla was blatantly aware of that. She'd witnessed her father and uncle's lechery. "You know father will want the eldest to go."

"Blasted fool," Cersei grumbled. "And have you heard of when he intends on moving everyone?"

"Joffrey said tomorrow, but requisitioning the moving houses, horses, and supplies might take the better part of the week. That is unless Lord Petyr or Lord Varys can work magic overnight," Cirilla brushed off.

"You almost sound eager to go," Cersei remarked, looking over her daughter. Cirilla was a tall, slender young lady whose hair was an inky black. Her days in the sun had awarded her with the lighter shade and tanned skin, a trait that Cersei wished she would reverse by staying inside more, but Cirilla was willful. Her long hair fell loose most often, subconsciously parted to one side, flipped over as she ran her fingers through them while she read. Her brows were dark, her eyes sultry, her lips turned in an effortless pout. Her cheekbones were smoothly hewn as if they were marble and Cirilla had a natural smolder that had men soiling themselves over her attention. If anyone outmatched Cersei's own beauty, she would have said it was Cirilla or Myrcella.

"And go somewhere cold? You know how much I love to bask in the warmth here, mother."

_And slip into Flea's Bottom when I'm not paying attention, _Cersei wanted to quip, but she harped upon her daughter's roguish tendancies enough. Between Cirilla's gambling in the slums of King's Landing and wearing men's clothing every chance she got, Cersei was just thankful that the young lady hadn't gotten herself killed. If Cirilla had a father like Tywin, she would have never gotten away with half of the mischief she accomplished, but Robert thought it was amusing that Cirilla could slide in and out of the castle without being noticed or missed. _And when Cirilla turns up dead, he'll certainly wish he heeded my words. _

"I should ship you to Dorne. The manner you act, you'd fit right in among the Sand Snakes," Cersei muttered.

"Are you certain I'm not one of them?" Cirilla smirked.

"I recall pushing you out of my cunt," Cersei told her chiperly.

"Uhg, don't mention childbirth. You remind me how close it looms to me," Cirilla shuddered at the idea of having to eventually perform her womanly duties.

"Life as a lady is certainly not all dice games and gambling away the crown's money," Cersei informed her sikily.

"I don't gamble it away, I win it back mother," Cirilla quipped. "And I make certain no one cheats me. I've put a dagger in a few who thought they'd get away with faux dice."

Even if Cersei did not approve of Cirilla's hobbies, she did approve of her ability to defend herself. Cersei had always wished to wield a sword, to fight the wars like Jaime. Often she thought that their genders should have been reversed. She was so much more clever than either of her brothers or father. Only she had been cursed with a cunt. Cirilla didn't let that slow her down and Cersei love that about her. It was also the root for much of her fear regarding the girl, but she hoped that Cirilla would teach Myrcella a thing or two about hiding knives in her gown. Princesses were prime targets of men who thought they were important enough to stick it in one. Cirilla's skill had already proven useful once before when a hedge knight had cornered her during a tourney. Due to how loud it had been, the crowds cheering, no one would have heard Cirilla's screams. Not that they needed to, because Cirilla had shoved the dagger right up his ass.

A rather choice place, but Cersei was overjoyed that her daughter had not been raped and the man who attempted it had been sodomized. She thought the punishment fit the crime and the man didn't keep his head too long after that. However, she took great gratification in knowing that he'd suffered until the end.

"Are you going to speak with father regarding the trip?" Cirilla asked.

"Where else would I be heading in such a fury?"

"Several places," she shrugged the nonchalance slipping away immediately as Myrcella and Tommen tottered into view. "Wow, I heard you were learning how to fight today? Are you going to be a knight like Uncle Jaime one day?" Cirilla bent down to embrace her pudgy brother, tousling his golden curls as she greeted him.

"Tommen did very good. Uncle Jaime said he is lasting long and just needs to work at it everyday," Myrcella informed them with a timid smile at her mother and sister.

"Incredible! One day you'll be just as good as uncle. Then you can protect all of us, right Tommy?" Cirilla tucked some of Tommen's long hair behind an ear.

Tommen gave a sheepish smile and buried his face into Cirilla's shoulder, tangling it in her dark hair. A sad smile touched Cersei's lips. If only Joffrey fit among the children as well as these three meshed. He preferred to estrange himself and would tolerate Myrcella, but often found himself tormenting Tommen. Cirilla acted as the buffer, the eyes for when Cersei was not around. As a woman fully grown and princess, she had no fear of her younger brother or his idle threats. The Hound wouldn't harm a hair on her head and her reprimands seemed to work better than Cersei's.

"Mother, I heard we were going north. Is that true?" Myrcella questioned politely.

"Your father and I are still discussing the matter, but that seems to be the plan."

"_Really_? I've read that Winterfell has enormous walls. Two of them, with a moat in between," Myrcella recited.

"Don't get too excited. Nothing is set in stone," Cersei reminded the golden haired child lightly.

She caught the look that Cirilla threw at her, a small look that doubted Cersei would be able to prevent Robert from the journey he had planned. Once Robert had set his mind on something, there would be little they could do to sway him. To Robert, the coin always existed to whatever he wanted. By now the crown was severely in debt to the Lannisters and the Iron Bank.

"Cirilla, see that Tommen and Myrcella get a good lunch. I'll meet with your father."

"Are you certain mother? Myrcella could handle Tommen on her own," Cirilla's presence did make Robert more tolerable, but Cersei didn't intend to always have her daughter covering for her. Now, this was her bone to pick with Robert.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

_Cersei_

The journey north had been long and arduous. Sitting in the wheelhouse did nothing to quell her temper, especially since the entire royal family had been uprooted from their home in King's Landing. Even with as many people that had been brought, her nerves still bothered her. No one would dare attack the king's convoy. Not with this many mounted knights. However, a trickle of doubt made Cersei worry for the wellbeing of her children, as was the curse of a mother. She intentionally rode in a separate wheelhouse from Robert, who fancied he could ride a horse the entire distance. He'd learned fast that the horses couldn't hold up his fat ass and that he also didn't have tough enough skin between his legs to keep himself up. A great deal of pleasure came from watching Robert toil in pain from his saddle sores.

She had good reason to be even more vexed with him than normal. Robert didn't speak to her more than he had to, but he was imploring at what lords holded the north. She knew his intentions were to entreat Ned Stark with the idea of a wedding and only two of her children were of age. He'd always wanted a Stark queen and he'd expressed interest in asking for Sansa Stark's hand with Joffrey's. But with the amount of inquiring, Cersei knew that he was also looking at prospective matches for Cirilla. By now, she had already turned down the idea of marrying Willas Tyrell. Her gorgeous daughter would not be wed to a cripple. The idea was a mockery. The eldest princess would be fit with a husband worthy of her and Cersei was going to make certain of that, even if she had to fight Robert tooth and claw.

"It's been too long since we've strengthened our bonds with the north and Cirilla has bloomed in a beautiful flower. We shouldn't let her wilt away. You know as well as I do that lords of the south have been imploring me for her hand. All of which you have declined. If you're worried about Ciri being in good hands, certainly the north men are the way to go?" Robert suggested as Cersei tolerated his presence.

"And what north man is worthy of a princess other than the Starks? We're already giving them one of our children," Cersei snipped, her eyes narrowed as she leered at him across the carriage. What a sight he was to behold, his wine cup dribbling down over another ruined doublet. He was barely able to hold himself up in the plush cushions, sinking into them.

"There's other big lords of the north woman," Robert snapped, irritation beginning to seep into him. "Why do you think I'm trying to pawn our daughter off? I love Cirilla and I know very well she'll castrate any man who does wrong by her. That's why we can't marry her south of the Twins. If we do, I have no doubt some florid lord will say the wrong thing-"

"If you hadn't enabled her for so long, perhaps Cirilla wouldn't be so roguish," Cersei retorted thinly.

"Certainly better than the spoilt brat I've allowed you to raise as the crown prince. And you can thank your own impish brother for some of Ciri's proclivities. He was the one who introduced her to gambling."

_Don't remind me that my brother soiled her, _Cersei didn't speak those words, but her glare should have been enough to speak them. All hope Cersei could cling to was that Cirilla was still a maiden, even if she strung men along and then broke their hearts. At least the girl respected her mother enough not to get herself pregnant or lose what leverage she had as a maiden.

"Ned has a ward in Winterfell, a Greyjoy. He's a year or so older than Cirilla and it would bind the Greyjoys to the crown and in turn the north. Seeing he's had issues with the Ironborn, this could be the solution he needs. He can't keep the Greyjoy in Winterfell forever."

Cersei felt her ears burn and her stomach roil at the thought of her lovely daughter being offered to the Ironborn. Their legacy was dark, salty, dirty, and rough. She didn't want Cirilla, a breathtaking and gorgeous princess, to wither away on the Iron Islands. "Are you mad? The Ironborn are little more than barbarians. They do not deserve a princess."

"The Ironborn once had a king. The Greyjoys were those kings. I cannot think of a better match for Cirilla. Not when you're declining all of the others."

"And you know of their legacy then. An Ironborn man may have salt wives. Do you think that Cirilla will want to be with a lord who has wives on the side?"

"Any man who needs salt wives on top of Cirilla is greedy," Robert snarled despite the hypocrisy in his words. "I doubt that she'd stand for it either."

_It doesn't matter what she stands for. On Pyke she'll be surrounded by Ironborn who are loyal to their liege. She raises one hand and she can count on it being gone, _she thought tartly, but as much as she roared, Robert still had the final say. "Talk to Cirilla about it. I don't wish to ship her to Pyke, perhaps the Greyjoy can come to King's Landing for a time? The marriage can occur somewhere more lovely than... the Iron Islands." Shivers went down her spine at the thought of a slimy kraken having his tentacles all over her made Cersei want to hack them off.

"It's just an idea woman, nothing is set in stone yet. I just thought I'd voice my ideas for Cirilla," Robert grumbled, finishing off his goblet of wine. "We should be approaching Winterfell soon. Thank the Seven, my ass feels as soft as these cushions. Been lounging around too much."

_Your ass is as soft and squishy as those pillows. Do you not realize how large it is?_ Cersei thought through a furrowed brow at Robert called for the wheel house to halt so he could finally get out of her company. The moment he was gone, Cersei summoned one of the handmaidens to clean the mess he'd made. Tommen and Myrcella returned swiftly thereafter. She couldn't shake the sulkiness from her, still dismayed by the prospects Robert thought suited their eldest daughter.

She ran her fingers through Myrcella's curls, unable to hold herself back at she admired how golden they were. _Oh, my poor child. You'll be even less prepared than Cirilla for when this time comes. _

"Mother, why do you look so sad?" Tommen asked, placing the wooden knight in his hands on his lap.

"Is it father? Did he make you sad?" Myrcella added to her brother's inquisitiveness.

"I am fine, sweetling. Do you know how close we are to Winterfell?"

"We rode ahead with Uncle Jaime. The Wolfswood is so big and the trees so tall. Their branches are really high up too, not like the trees back home," Myrcella told her excitedly. "The forest is big, but I think we're almost there. Uncle Jaime told us probably before sunset."

"That is very close. Perhaps we should all get changed then, so that we look good to greet the Starks."

"Is it true that Joff is going to marry one of their daughters?" Tommen chirped.

Cersei smiled lightly as she untied Myrcella's hair. "If Lord Eddard accepts, then yes, he shall marry Sansa Stark. She's only a few years older than you Myrcella. Could you find it in your heart to befriend her?"

"Of course, mother," Myrcella glanced around. "Can I wear the emerald gown for our arrival?"

"That one shall be for when we feast, after you've both had the chance to bathe... Where are Cirilla and Joffrey?"

"Joff is riding with The Hound and Ciri is with Uncle Tyrion."

_Theon_

The king and his family arrived late afternoon, elegant wheelhouses with spun gold decorating them, acting as the brightest and most colorful spectacle that Theon had the chance to see in all of his years at Winterfell. Lined up in a row like ducks, the Starks patiently waited to greet their guests. All of Winterfell had been in a tizzy trying to prepare for the huge ensemble that followed the king. The entourage was probably at least a hundred strong, many of those including the King's Guard and various soldiers, Baratheon and Lannister.

Theon wasn't too interested, not other than seeing the queen. She was fabled to be the most beautiful woman in all of the Seven Kingdoms, her hair like liquid honey. He just wanted to see if there was truth, seeing she'd had quite a few children. Theon liked to think that having children made a woman less lovely and she was in her prime before birthing them. He'd had his fair share of women and he wondered how Cersei Lannister would compare to them.

King Robert was nothing like the stories. He was a behemoth of a man, but was just as wide as he was tall. Theon couldn't fathom how he walked, but he certainly was contended as king. His skill with a warhammer slipped between his fingers and Theon was certain he could best Robert when drunk. The idea brought a smirk to his lips as he lurked by the rear of the armory, seeing the part had entered through the East Gate that was attached to the King's Road.

"Ned," the king has his arms spread wide open, reaching forward to clasp Eddard's forearm tightly with his pudgy fingers, so large they were like sausages. "Nice to see you've missed me. I would have at least thought you'd come to visit me once or twice in the south. Helped me win the damn thing."

Eddard Stark broke out into a smile, but his long face was still guarded. "The north is where I belong," he reminded his old friend.

Theon's attention waned and he watched as one of the wheel houses opened. Stepping out first was the woman of legend, Queen Cersei. Surely, she was a vision to behold with her long, yellow hair that was twirling down in elegant curls. A crown sat against her brow and she wore a crimson gown that hugged her slender, womanly form. He was undressing her with his eyes, a pair of children in tow. One was about Rickon's age and the other was somewhere between Arya and Sansa. Both were gilded in spectacular finery, not the drab brown and blacks of the north.

_That's not all of them, there's four royal children, aren't there? _Theon wondered, his eyes trailing after the queen. Certainly, she was beautiful, but her radiance was lackluster. Just as he believed, it had faded, especially while she held hands with the prince and princess.

A stallion brushed forward, thrusting its head up and down, clearly in a foul mood. Astride was the crown prince, wearing a semblage of golden armor that matched his hair. His green eyes swept around the courtyard, unimpressed by the grounds which were meant to greet him. An intimidating man rode behind him, helm fashioned in the shape of a snarling dog.

"Is this really it?" Prince Joffrey frowned, casting his eyes back at the huge soldier who rode behind him. "Not anything spectacular. Right Hound?"

"No, your grace. Just a bunch of buildings and spires," the man replied gruffly.

"Hmph," Joffrey dismounted and glanced over at his father.

"Well don't just stop in the middle of the yard!" a beautiful dappled appaloosa horse thundered by the prince, the destrier kicking up the dirt around him. "Seriously Joffrey, we've got dozens more people to fit in here," it was the woman mounted on the horse that Theon was enraptured by. The eldest princess, Cirilla Baratheon, was in a flowing silk gown of forest green. Her tanned skin rich and olive against the dress, her long dark hair fastened back in a braid. Rather than the golden hair of her siblings, Theon found he rather preferred her dark locks and the way her bright eyes swept across the clearing. Now if Cersei had looked like her daughter, he might have agreed that she was the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros.

Joffrey gave his sibling an insolent look for rushing past him on such a horse, but was beckoned over by his father. Cirilla soon followed, dismounting on her own and striding over to where the Starks were standing.

_Wait to Robb gets a load of her,_ Theon thought, grinning to himself as he inspected her lean physique and hourglass shape. Undressing her with his eyes, he could imagine what fine legs and supple breasts the princess had. Not that he would ever get the pleasure of knowing. His endeavors were typically limited to that of whores and serving girls. He'd never been turned down, the girls either willing or too timid to turn away the future lord of the Iron Island.

With the Starks introducing themselves, Theon noticed that Sansa became incredibly misty eyed when she gazed up at the prince. She must have missed the bout with his sister or his ill remarks of her home, for she appeared breathless as he kissed the back of her hand, pandering to her poor naive dreams. Theon thought of Sansa as a little sister, but she was still going to grow up into a woman and have to marry. Wouldn't be too bad if she married a prince, right?

He caught Robb's face when he greeted Princess Cirilla and Theon felt envy ball in stomach as he pressed his lips to her hand in a formal greeting. He wished he could have stood among them, even if he wasn't a Stark. What was he? A Greyjoy certainly, he was reminded oft enough, but he couldn't help but wish he'd been a Stark from the start.

Theon stalked off and across Winterfell's expansive manse. Over by the inner ward, the area was clear enough for archery lanes, a favorite haunt of Theon. He sntached up a bow up in his hands and dragged a barrel full of arrows with him to his favorite lane, the middle one. Seeing that everyone was interested by the royal entourage, it was relaxingly quiet. No Brann or Rickon to interrupt him. No servants or talking from companions. He placed his foot on the horn of the bow and strung it in a fluid motion.

Plucking an arrow from the container, Theon pulled the string taut, the feathers grazing his cheek as he controlled his breathing. He waited until the bottom of his breath and loosed the arrow. Fletchings cutting across his cheek, the arrow plunked into the center of the target effortlessly. Having had his first arrow hit true, the others came to him swiftly, flying eagerly from his fingers. By then, Theon was barely thinking of where they were striking as the form was natural.

Instead his mind wandered aimlessly as the arrows flew true. Winterfell was to host the royal family and he would sit below the dias. Once, the Greyjoys had been kings of the Iron Islands and yet... they'd been reduced to nothing. He respected Eddard Stark, the man had shown him nothing but courtesy, but Theon knew that he was an Ironborn through and through. One day he would return to the Iron Islands and claim what was rightfully his. Just like the arrows from his fingertips, the time whizzed by him, and he barely noticed that Winterfell had resumed naturally after being a brief halt from the arrival of the royal family.

"Theon," he was only stirred from his archery when Jory Cassel interrupted him and his thoughts. Lowering his weapon he threw an insolent look in the knight's direction. "Lord Stark requests your company in his solar."

Theon's brows pulled together. "Very well," he muttered, returning the bow to the rack, albeit sloppily. He didn't bother to retrieve his arrows or clean up his mess. Someone else would do it later.

What was the royal family doing now? Surely the journey from King's Landing had been long, tiring, and arduous. Was Eddard already done with meeting the king?

Theon climbed up to Eddard Stark's solar and rapped on the door.

"Come in Theon," Eddard called. He was sitting behind his desk, glancing down at various pieces of parchment in front of him. Robb was not there, nor was Lady Catelyn or Maester Lewin. He was curious as to what topic Eddard deemed worthy of summoning him before the largest dinner Winterfell had in many years. "You've been in my care many years now and you do understand that I think of you as another of my sons…" Eddard began slowly. "And the king has made a proposition."

_Has he offered Robb, Cirilla's hand? _"And what is that, Lord Eddard?"

"The king is fond of the idea of offering you, the heir to the Iron Islands, his eldest daughter Cirilla's hand," Eddard revealed, nearly causing Theon's jaw to drop. Him? He was worthy of the princess?

"What's stopping him from asking me then?" the words tumbled out of his mouth and he felt a heat in his chest, a heavy and thick desire. He wanted the princess and he wanted her now. To taste her lips, to run his fingers through her sun streaked hair, to cup her breasts in his palms. The most beautiful woman in the world could possibly be his?

Eddard noticed that Theon was clutching the edge of his desk, knuckles whitening. "_That_. Theon, I've overlooked your… trips into the nearby village. You have been a man grown and may do as you please, but King Robert has warned me that Princess Cirilla is very willful and…" he trailed off, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"Any woman can be conquered," Theon told him without thinking.

Ned's eyes flashed at his choice of words and Theon knew immediately that he had spoken out of turn. "King Robert is only going to arrange this marriage on my recommendation. He also requires that you journey to King's Landing and stay south for some time. The queen is unwilling to part with her daughter for a while longer and would prefer the wedding be held at the Red Keep."

_Then I'll be free. Is he giving me leave? Will I be allowed to marry Cirilla and take her back to the Iron Islands? _Theon had began thinking that he would never go back to the place of his birth. He barely remembered it anymore, but the scents he still clung to; salt, brine, iron, and blood. King's Landing also didn't sound that bad, he'd have to get a taste of the southern whores. He could picture it now in the exotic and warm south. Had they ever seen an Ironborn before? He doubted it.

"And I have troubling accounts of how Princess Cirilla has maimed men. Seeing how comely she is, King Robert spared me the story of how she sodomized a man who tried to rape her. I can only imagine what the princess might do if she had a lord-husband who can't stay faithful. You may only see a face now, Theon, but I warn you that you may not know what family you'd be getting into."

Theon only half heard what Ned was saying, but nodded as if he were listening entirely. "I'll do it."

Eddard settled back in his seat, dwelling deeply on the words he'd spared with Theon. "Then prove yourself a perfect gentleman. One wrong move Theon and the royal family will spurn you, perhaps even worse from the princess if you cross her."

"Very well," _how hard can it be? I've wooed women before. A princess shouldn't be too much different. _

"Then you are to escort Princess Cirilla to the Great Hall this evening."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

* * *

_Ciri_

The tripulations of the north had yet to test her. Rumors floated around, words from little birds that were everywhere. Her mother's spies were as good as her, seeing how close they were. Whether that Pycelle or the servants around the Red Keep or guards for the city, Ciri had her fingers in the honey pot. She was Cersei's little prize, despite how much she tended to vex her mother from time to time. A princess shouldn't do this, a princess shouldn't be that. Cirilla's intention had been to break the mold, though her sister would not soon follow her suit. Perhaps it was the Baratheon fury that drove her, made her more unpredictable than her siblings... Aside from Joffrey who had little tact and a whole lot of menace in his slender body.

"My lady, you should wash your hair," Phenora remarked, a Lysene servant with pale watery eyes and hair almost as silvery and milky as a Targaryen's hair. Phenora was Nila's daughter, the midwife and previous maid of Ciri. Both women were the only she could stand to assist her, the other girls of lesser noble birth of servants were too meek, shy, and timid. That or they were clumsy and not forthcoming. Phenora, while courteous, voiced her opinion openly. Their similar age also brought them closer than the little flowers that she might have been presented with.

"I know, I know," Ciri muttered slinking down into the hot water. She had been letting it relax into her muscles where they had been tense from riding. She loathed sitting in the water once her long raven hair got wet.

Phenora hissed a sigh, shaking her head at the princess. "You need to freshen up. Sometimes you act more like a man than a lady for 19 namedays passed," the servant remarked coolly.

"Sometimes, I wish I was," Ciri replied offhandedly, ducking into the water so that she could submerge her head and dampen her thick, wavy locks. Appearances were never much for her, though in the court her mother forced her to look pristine. Graced with the lovely features of Cersei Lannister and the coloring of her father, Cirilla had grown being complimented for how beautiful she was. It also was the crux of her problems, lisentious men pestering her. Mother said that courtesy was her armor and her skill was in how she could beguile them. Ciri said her best weapon was a weapon. Even if her mother groomed her, she couldn't groom the Baratheon tendancies out of her.

"Don't say that. You've grown to be one the most lovely lady in the court," Phenora scolded, trying to raise her spirits.

"In appearance only," she retorted. Her skills brought her to the top echelons in the court, but that didn't mean people were fond of her. Just like her mother, they feared her, and reacted out of that fear. Stories circulated quickly and one little occasion blew out of proportion after she'd opened a man's bottom when he tried to corner her. After that, she was a monster princess, a marvel and a behemoth. None of the suitors that were inclined toward her thought of her more as just a pretty face of a thing to conquer. That was why she hated them all so much. It wasn't about who she was, what hobbies she had, or what intricacies laid beneath her skin. It was 'who could mount the stag?' And Cersei knew this, which was why she refused any proposals for Ciri's hand.

"Don't get in a mood now, my lady. You have to look lovely for tonight and scowling like that will only give you premature age lines," Phenora chirped lightly, her fingers massaging into her scalp, lathering the soap.

"My mother scowls a lot and she's still regarded as one of the most beautiful women in all the Seven Kingdoms," Ciri reminded her.

"Let us not... Open that can of worms," Phenora muttered. "Wash."

Ciri dunked herself back into the water and scrubbed her fingers underneath the surface before coming back up, water dribbling down her face. "Ooh, do I look like a siren?" her hair was plastered to her face and she could barely see.

"You look a mess," Phenora corrected, hissing a sigh at Ciri's childishness. "Is it true that your brother is to marry one of the Stark girls?"

"If Ned Stark accepts father's offer to be Hand of the King. I pity the girl," she shivered in spite of the hot water. Something was wrong with that boy and she often tried to reprimand him. He seemed to listen to her, but he had a cruel and sadistic streak. She'd caught him torturing a katten once, a kitten. The memory turned her stomach. What would he do to Tommen if given the chance? She feared the day that he assumed the throne in place of her father. Her father might have been a drunkard and a lecher, but the kingdom was doing well enough under the guidance of his small council.

"Sit by the fire, my lady, you'll be needing to get ready soon," Phenora guided, wrapping her in a thick blanket.

The north was colder than expected, but not so much so that Cirilla felt she was going to freeze her tits off. However, Phenora always worried about her, as it was her charge to. Perhaps due to the events of Ciri's life, feeling obligated to make up for the downfalls of the court.

Fire crackling in front of her, Cirilla gazed into the flames, her mind wandering. She could see figures dancing against the embers, twirling in a cascade of fine silk and embroidered fabric. What else? Leaning forward she watched, noticing that the dancers were wearing helms like knights, each fashioned to match the animals for which house they belonged; there were a few wolves, several lions, and… a dragon dancing with a stag. But both were women, their skirts fluttering around them. A loud pop startled her and sprouting from the back of the she-dragons were great leathery wings. Now they danced together, a creature prowling from out of the corner on four legs, unfurling wings as it wrapped protectively around the dancing women.

"Do you see something in the fire again, my lady?" Phenora's voice interrupted the visage and when she gazed back at it, the ballroom of helmed dancers had vanished. "An omen?"

"I don't know… I saw something, but I'm uncertain just what," Cirilla admitted, glancing at the gown that Phenora had in her arms. "Seven hells you're really going to squeeze me into that?"

"You're still a princess, whether or not you're in King's Landing," she almost seemed delighted by the prospect of forcing Cirilla into a corset despite how much she detested them.

Sucking in a deep breath, she nodded. "Very well, let's get this over with. Let me just… you know, get the last few nice breaths before I suffocate for the rest of the evening."

Bending by the bed, Phenora slid the corset over her breasts and torso, beginning to tighten the laces. "If you had larger breasts, I don't think Queen Cersei would insist on you wearing a corset so often."

"Oh yes, let me just will the flat chestedness away. I've got the face, the waist, the hips, but not the boobs. Lucky me," she hissed as her ribs cried in agony. She already had a very slender waist, but with the corset she would seem even tiny, daintier perhaps, and they shoved up what little assets she had for a chest "Curses, I'd trade the face for the boobs if it prevented this awful pain."

"Many ladies wear corsets all the time," Phenora reminded her.

"Yes and all those ladies are sick in the head. Ow!"

Phenora rolled her eyes. "I've seen you ride a horse better than any man. I've watched you use sleight of hand to cheat at cards. I've even seen you shatter your arm after you pretended to be a man just to have a chance tilting. And yet, the most pain I've ever seen you in is when I put a corset on you."

"_I loathe them_," Ciri whispered menacingly as she turned stiffly. She found it difficult to slide the garter up her thigh, clipping it to the base of her corset, sliding a dagger into place. "How am I even supposed to get this if I'm being attacked? I can barely bend over!"

Phenora turned to see the arsenal that Cirilla was already beginning to equip. "You shant need that here!"

"What, do you really think the northmen are better than the south?" she arched a brow at her servant.

"They say the Starks are very honorable."

"I'm not talking about the Starks. I'm talking about all the common folk, of the men from lesser houses. It's happened a handful of times before Nora and I don't take chances anymore. I'm not some meek maiden who will just let men cop a feel. I'll break every finger they used to touch me," she smiled to herself at the thought. She'd done it before and she'd do it again if it protected her innocence. Women were not items and she would not be used as one. She was above that.

Bending over, she let Phenora slip the gown over her head. Even if the dress didn't need a corset, it was among one of her favorites. A dark, lovely cerulean silk that was hemmed by ivory silk around the heart shaped collar, sleeves, waist, and skirt base. Layered in elegant curtains, the dress clung to her and spilled down like lake water.

"Not too much jewelry. You know how I detest exuberant displays of wealth," she waved away the sapphire necklace that belonged to her mother, Cersei. She never had any issues flaunting the money she possessed, crafting pieces of armor to wear with her gowns and bedecking herself in gemstones. Ciri settled for a simple drop of moonstone on a pale chain and matching stud earrings.

Staring into the looking glass she couldn't help but think, _I'd love this gown even more if I could wear my hair wild and down. _And yet she had her black hair spiralling down in her back in thick ringlets. Her bright blue eyes reflected the rippling colors of the moonstone, drawing a deep sigh, though she couldn't expel it all in her corset.

A stern knock on the door caught Phenora to shoot her a questioning look. Cirilla shrugged and Phenora headed to the door to see who it was. "Good evening, my lord. May I-"

"I am here to escort Princess Cirilla," a masculine voice inclined.

"And you are…" Phenora pressed.

"Theon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands," he boasted proudly.

Cirilla swept forward, placing her hand gently on her handmaiden's shoulder. "It's fine Nora," she let the door open to look upon Theon Greyjoy. Her mother had been sulky the majority of the day and she wondered if it had to do with her father. He had been trying to barter her hand off for some time, but Ciri was quite good at burning bridges and terrifying all the men south of the Twins. They were all afraid they'd end up with a knife up their ass too.

A tall young man with an obsidian wash of shoulder length hair stood in the frame. He wore a doublet as dark as his hair, emblazoned with the golden kraken on the Greyjoys. He was rather handsome, a straight nose, strong jaw, and eyes just as black as his hair. There was an air of arrogance around him, one that she was all too familiar with back home. Beneath his doublet she could tell he had a strong, lean chest, shoulders broad. Certainly not a bad looking escort.

"Enjoy yourself tonight Nora," she muttered to her handmaiden before accepting Theon Greyjoy's offered arm.

"No cloak, my lady? It does get cool here in the evening," Theon warned her.

"I think I shall be fine," Ciri lied. She was better suited to the sands of Dorne than the cold of Winterfell. "But if I do, shall you not lend me your own cloak?"

Theon blinked and she chuckled, patting his gloved hand. "Of course, my lady."

"It is a fine cloak," she remarked, soaking in the way the fur rippled like night. "Now, what do I owe to the pleasure of Theon Greyjoy's company? Here I was believing that Robb Stark was going to be my escort."

"Am I not suitable enough?" Theon questioned, but his voice was still good natured.

"Oh, dear, I don't believe I said that, did I?"

"No," Theon smirked at her, his eyes sweeping over her. He was sizing her up, getting a good look at the princess up close. "You are quite stunning tonight, my lady."

"Yes, of that I am quite aware," she waved him off dismissively.

Theon snorted. "Not one for modesty, are you?" he spoke before he could stop himself, catching himself with a brief flicker of doubt at his words, but he swapped back to insolent and did not apologize.

"Look at the pot calling the kettle black," Ciri chirped, her lavender eyes leering into Theon's head as he kept it set forward. "Now, Theon Greyjoy, are you going to answer my original question? Or are we going to keep dancing around with our words?"

Theon breathed a laugh. "I thought I might have a moment with the princess as a prospective suitor."

"That is a lame excuse, come now, I know you can conjure a much better reason. You seem like a clever lad," Cirilla prompted.

He turned to look at her, pausing on their journey to the Great Hall. "I don't want to be too premature in assumptions, my lady. If you know what I mean," he arched a dark brow at her suggestively, actually managing to bring a fair bit of color to Ciri's cheeks.

"Hm yes, let us not be a little too preemptive. I assume you've heard of the tales of men who have been such with me?"

"How you sodomized one. I am quite familiar," most men would have shuddered at the thought, but Theon Greyjoy just smirked.

"Oh good. You did know it was with a dagger right? That I shoved it up and tore it so that he'd know what it was like to have a cunt of his own?" she flashed a bright and chipper smile at him.

"Ah, they didn't warn me how macabre you were though."

"Yes, many men find my… coarseness repulsive. A pretty face but a harsh attitude, certainly not what they expect of a princess. My sister Myrcella certainly fits that bill a great deal more than I," she mused. "But if you really believe yourself to be a prospective suitor then you should know me for who I am."

She did this to all men who fancied they might impress her. The scare tactic worked half the time along with the disgust of how foul mouthed she could be. In truth, she'd never speak that way in front of a court, but lords or knights would also have a difficult time proving she was gutter mouthed. Anyone who stuck around longer than her first introduction often only had one thing in mind and that was what laid between her legs. Surprisingly, Greyjoy didn't seem too repulsed, perhaps due in fact that he was Ironborn or a northerner. Maybe they bred a different sort of man this far north.

_All men are the same, they only want one thing, _she recalled her mother's most valuable lesson, even now.

"Rather exciting actually. Here I was believing that the princess was just another doll. Pretty to look at, but drab company. Ah, here we are, my lady."

_Theon_

By the Old Gods and Drowned, Theon could barely believe the words he was hearing escape the princess's mouth. Eddard had warned him that she was willful, but have completely neglected to mention that she was knavish. There was a rather large difference between being stubborn and having the mouth of a sailor. Yet, that only engaged him more with the woman. The gown clung to her slender frame in all the right ways, highlighting her narrow waist, her ample buttocks… though he did notice that what assets she had for a chest were rather nonexistent. She quickly made up for that in prowess and snippiness.

She might have been clever words and charming, but Theon's mind was rapt on how long it would take her to fold before him. He wanted to caress her tan skin, run his fingers down her smooth belly, and take a handful of her chestnut hair. And then there were those pale eyes, boring into him, as if she could read his mind. Perhaps she could, because she smirked at him, as if sensing that he had been thinking lecherous thoughts.

Theon led her to the dias where the royal family was sitting among the Starks. He had not been awarded a seat among them, despite the possibility of a betrothal with the princess.

"Meet me in the tiltyard an hour after dinner," Ciri muttered in his ear, drawing close to him so he could smell the scent of cloves and spice on her.

When he released her to join her family, her touch lingered on his arm like a fire burning beneath his flesh. He could barely wrap his thoughts around something else, collapsing into a seat with some of the Stark guard and soldiers, pouring a cup of wine so that he could try and not eye Cirilla like a hunk of meat. But could he kid himself? She was certainly his next hunt.

Meet her later that evening? Smirking to himself he emptied the first goblet. His charm seemed to already have the princess between his fingers. Maybe she was just as promiscuous as she was cunning and Theon would be awarded despite there not being a betrothal set in place just yet. The idea nearly made him hard at the table and he had to adjust how he was sitting.

"Have you seen the queen?" Quent, one of the guardsmen elbowed Jacks next to him. "Her beauty is famed around the Seven Kingdoms. Never thought I'd get the chance to look upon her."

"Hair like spun gold, eyes like emerald. I wonder if the rug matches the drapes," Shadd grinned.

"What of you Theon? What do you think?" Quent inquired, beckoning for him to join the mens' conversation.

"Four children? Come now, we all know it's probably a cave down below, but the princess."

"Aye, she's certainly gorgeous, but have you heard the stories? I wouldn't try sticking mine in her, not after what she's done to men down south," Shadd shuddered.

"I've heard about the sodom-"

All of them men groaned, cutting Theon off before he could continue.

"That's just one of the stories," Shadd said, leaning over the table as if they could be overheard at any moment, which was preposterous seeing that the Great Hall was incredibly loud. "I've heard from some of the Lannister men that a man touched her and she broke every bone in his hand, individually, for touching her."

"Then I presume he did something wrong to warrant such a punishment," Theon shrugged.

"Men that were there told me. Saw it with their own eyes. That woman up there is dangerous."

"And when did you start believing every word of a southron you've just met, Shadd?" Theon snipped cleanly, causing the guard to settle back in his seat, glaring at Theon.

"Hoping to get under her skirts too then, I presume? I might warn you against it, but if you truly want a dagger up your ass, then help yourself," Quent shrugged, eliciting a few laughs from the guards around.

He narrowed his eyes, his relationship swayed back and forth with the guards. Sometimes they were as thick as thieves and other times they thought of him as an accursed Ironborn. "I'm going to marry her," Theon informed them smugly, but rather than impress him that only brought an even louder chorus of chortling. Scowling, Theon picked up his goblet and left the guards where they were. He cast his eyes up once to the dias and looked at them all, thinking themselves so much higher than him.

_King Robert thought of me as a choice for his daughter. Not Robb. Me._

And that consolation was all Theon needed to ride on now, because soon Quent and the other guards would be choking on their laughs when he was able to fuck the princess whenever he wanted. But their words rang in the back of his head and he couldn't help but wonder if the princess would put a knife in him before gracing him with her bed. Theon just had to hope that he was suave enough to not warrant her fury.

Passing by a serving girl, he refilled his chalice and slid outside the loud and boisterous hall. He nearly felt her up when he slipped by, but decided against it if by chance it was noticed by the head table.

He wasn't trying to ruin his chances with Cirilla, not just yet. Swaggering outside, he noticed that he wasn't the only one trying to escape the activities of the night. Jon Snow was beating at a training dummy as if it had stolen his lemon cakes. For most of his life, Theon had ignored him. A bastard was worth little of his time, even if Robb was fond of him.

"You're going to ruin that sword at any rate," Theon remarked, wine warm on his tongue as he took a bastard whirled and glared at him haughtily. Not anything new. By his mannerisms and the slight lean in his step, Theon could tell he'd had a bit too much to drink.

"Go away Theon," Jon snapped, not in any mood for Theon's ilk. However, Theon didn't intend on leaving just yet.

"Heard you're going to be leaving for the Wall soon. You know, I know some women in Winter town that could give you a good time. Perhaps change your mind about leaving? After all, I don't think you'd forsake everything to freeze your balls off if you knew what you were missing."

Theon didn't care if Jon stayed or not, but he knew that Robb would be happier if his half-brother remained in Winterfell. Now that the prospect of King's Landing was laid in front of him, he had to leave Robb with someone.

Jon only turned his back and began hitting the practice dummy again. Shrugging, Theon left him to his sulking. He'd never been a very pleasant person to keep company with, always that serious and long face.

He headed for the kennels wheremany of the dogs he had personally trained were baying, begging for some scraps from the kitchen as the smell of the feast wafted over the roofs of Winterfell. Occupying his thoughts with what he might do in King's Landing, Theon barely noticed that the time was slipping between his fingers like sand.

When he exited the kennels and glanced around, he noticed that the pace of Winterfell has calmed down to little more than a mutter as servants continued their work, but the nobles slept. He found a perch in the courtyard, waiting quietly as he sharpened his dirk. However, more than an hour passed since the dinner had ended and Theon was still sitting around waiting for the princess. The idea had never crossed his mind that he was having his leg pulled. Who would dare to do such a thing?

_Did I just get stood up?_

A flash of fury was quickly replaced with a harsh laugh. The princess wasn't going to play easy to get and she seemed fond of making him the fool.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hey everyone, sorry for the bit of jarring changes. After much deliberation with my Beta reader and good friend, as well as reviews and consideration, I have altered a bit of Chapter 3 and a few other portions in regards to Cirilla. Please go ahead and take a look, but be advised that Cirilla is a Baratheon, the only true borne child of Robert Baratheon rather than the original idea of a baby-switch. Thanks so much for everyone elses continued support and the amount of reviews I've already gotten! I didn't think the story would take off so quickly. Sorry for any readers who may be confused by the reviews!

\- Bitbasic

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

* * *

_Ciri_

"So you've heard then?" Cersei faced her daughter, eyes sweeping down Cirilla as she laced up her boots. Everytime she did this, Ciri couldn't help but feel her nerves twinge, was she her mother's eyes? The way she raked her eyes over her, Ciri often felt she wasn't good enough.

"I have. Perhaps it's about time for me to marry, mother," Ciri intoned, knowing that any hint of insolence would cause a rise. Cersei was especially touchy when it came to the marriage of her daughters, but with age creeping up on both of them, Cirilla could not grow into her twenties without being wed. The idea was preposterous. There were girls newly flowered who were whisked away into marriage and had children the year following. This was what Cersei was trying to avoid. A girl having children when she was still just a child herself.

"I never expected those words to come from your mouth," Cersei's lips twisted up into her trademark half-smile as she crossed her arms. "The lad is handsome, but I've heard some troublesome rumors about him. I did manage to get a bit out of Lady Catelyn last night and I'm not pleased by what I heard."

"Trust me mother, I can tell what kind of man he is from the short exchange last evening. I may have... done something to knock him down a few pegs," a devilish grin touched her lips.

"You didn't maim your prospective betrothed, I hope? Not that I was disapprove, just that it'd be difficult to explain to your father..."

"No, I told him to meet me after dinner. As if I'd grace him with a hot midnight rendezvous just after our brief meeting... And then I returned here and went to sleep instead," she shrugged, eliciting a harsh laugh from her mother.

"Perhaps one of the more innocent jests you've pulled. You're growing soft Cirilla."

"He hasn't done anything yet to warrant my temper," she reminded Cersei lightly, their conversation interrupted by a light knock on the door. Phenora entered with a small bit of parchment between her fingers, halting when she noticed the queen was in the room.

Phenora immediately bowed graciously. "Good morning, your grace," she greeted. "My lady... Theon Greyjoy has requested you go riding with him this afternoon. He wishes to show you the wolfswood."

"And so it begins," Ciri sighed throwing a playful look over at her mother.

"Joff wanted to take the Sansa girl for a ride as well. I'll fetch him and tell him to be ready to ride with the two of you for noon," Cersei said, standing up and brushing by Phenora.

"Aw, come now mother, I really don't want Joffrey there," Ciri complained.

"And I don't want Joff going off with the Stark girl on his own. You know how he gets," Cersei waved her off and departed from her daughter's chambers.

Cirilla knew exactly what Cersei was referencing. Joffrey had already proven to be in a foul mood last night over dinner. Nothing about Winterfell was good enough. To him, the food was bland, the women plain, and the castle old and boring. That was his super power, being able to demean anything and get away with it. His impudent attitude was never curbed by her mother and thus he grew into it. How could the crown prince be so different from his siblings? Joffrey had no tact, only his claim to the throne and his stupid golden head.

This ride with Greyjoy was not going to be as amusing as she had hoped. Not with two kids tailing them. especially with one of them being Joffrey.

"Want to help me get ready for this ride?" she asked Phenora, though the girl didn't have much of a choice. Yet, Cirilla liked to make it seem as if she did.

"Of course, my lady. How were you hoping to look today? Demure or..." she trailed off, her eyes sparkling in mirth at the idea of putting her in man's clothing.

"Sansa Stark is going to be there, so I think I'd better wear a dress," Cirilla sighed, pushing back her mop of hair.

"That pretty little pup? She had such a dewy expression on her face."

"If she betroths Joff, she's going to get eaten up in the south," Cirilla remarked, shaking her head. Sansa Stark had little chance, especially when opposing her was a woman with extreme skill manipulating the courts. Queen Cersei would be the one to devour her, shape and mold her, convince her that she was as little as she believed. Ciri did not know the child and it was not her place to go swooping in to defend her. Sansa would have to learn how to fight for herself.

"This one?" Phenora pulled out a midnight blue riding gown that narrowed at the weight with a lightweight leather cincher. The skirts were pillowed and split so that a lady could ride without the gown riding up.

"With the tall boots," Ciri nodded, taking a ribbon and tying her long dark hair up in a high ponytail.

"So it is true then?" Phenora asked, slipping the dress over Ciri's head.

"What is?" Ciri pulled at the fabric against her breasts and snapped it into place.

"This Greyjoy… You are to be betrothed to him?" Phenora was dubious, as if no one was worthy of the Baratheon princess.

"Nothing is written in stone just yet. But he is among the first prospective suitor in a long time and…" she smirked lightly to herself.

"Oh no, my lady, I don't like that smile."

"Too devious? I must say, in our small exchange last evening, he wasn't afraid to call me vain. Certainly a bit different from the men who typically chase me," Cirilla told her maid. She didn't know Theon, not at all, for all she knew he was going to turn out to be just like the others. However, if he was clever enough to parry comments with her, she might bear his presence. "Oh, let's try not to forget this." Cirilla lifted one of her daggers, causing Phenora to roll her eyes.

"You will never learn, will you?"

"It's the Baratheon in me, Ours is Fury. I can't help what is in my blood," Ciri shrugged, sliding the dagger into place. "Plus, we're riding in the woods. Can never be too safe."

"If Prince Joffrey is going, his hound will be with him," Phenora shuddered at the thought of the hound. Ciri never minded him, he just did as he was bid. Many paled at his burned face, but Cirilla admired the skilled warrior that was beneath it. Her respect for the hound extended as far as she could toss him, seeing he was loyal to Joffrey and not her. "There. Always a vision, my lady."

"Aren't I?" Ciri flipped her hair arrogantly, lips twisting up in a wry smile as Phenora shook her head. "Try not to worry too much. The betrothal isn't even official yet."

"I always worry about you, my lady," Phenora gave a weak smile.

Cirilla squeezed the Lysene maid on the shoulder before heading to the door. The halls of Winterfell were warm despite the chill outside, her navy cloak fluttering around her shoulders. A few guards spared a moment to glance at her, she knew that the stories of the mad princess had spread faster than wildfire. The idea made her smile to herself, somehow already demonized in the eyes of the northmen.

_Their loss, I suppose, _she thought nonchalantly, picking her way to the largest courtyard where the stables were situated, just across from the kennels. Her eyes found Theon Greyjoy who had arranged for their horses to be saddled, her appaloosa, Arrax, was waiting patiently. The man was handsome, but she felt she looked in a mirror when it came to the arrogance factor. Still, she had to see how it would play out. Her curiosity was too great. Perhaps that was why Phenora always worried about her. Ciri didn't know when to take a step back.

"Princess," Theon greeted, his eyes doing a sweep over her. "I am glad you accepted my proposal."

"Not much else to do here, is there? Anyways, I like a little sun," she glanced up at the grey sky. "What little there is here…"

"It's cool enough that I think we might have a summer snow," Theon informed her.

"Really? I've never seen snow before… Not that I can recall anyways," Cirilla had seen paintings and read depictions of what the fluffy white flakes, but never touched them or played in snow. The idea created a blossom of excitement as she trotted up to the Greyjoy in his kraken emblazoned surcoat.

"Really?" he arched a brow at her, the smirk he cocked on his face ruffling her feathers slightly.

"Uh, yes. It doesn't snow in King's Landing. Not unless it's winter. It's so warm down there that the whores wear gowns of Myrish silk that's almost see through. And most ladies in the court can't bear to wear head cotton and wool, as I've seen up here," Ciri retorted thinly, snatching Arrax's reins from his hands.

"A snow virgin then," Theon jested, his dark eyes flashing with mischief.

"Aw, that makes you a voyeurist. Try not to get too jealous, my lord," she batted her lashes a few times before sticking her foot into the stirrup and mounting Arrax in one swift movement. The hem of her skirt rode up and revealed the top of her garter as well as the dagger that was sheathed there. Theon eyed her exposed leg and as she tugged the skirt back down she gave him a wicked grin. "Never know what the forest may throw at us."

"I like a woman who is well prepared," Theon mounted his own horse, a creature as black as the attire he wore. "Not too far from here there is a beautiful waterfall that has the most amazing views."

His lean in on the horse, the way his eyes seemed not to be focused on his story, but rather on her. Ciri could sense the intentions of the Greyjoy, but he was in for a nasty surprise. She might have enjoyed entertaining him for a bit, if not for the golden brat that was making his way across the courtyard with the hound in tow. "Hm, why do I get the feeling that the view of the waterfall is not quite why you wish to go there?"

"Because you're a clever princess."

"And I do wish I could indulge your fantasies, but Lady Sansa and my brother are also going riding with us. I hope that doesn't change your plans too much," by now Joffrey had nearly met them where they were mounted. She watched as a flash of bitterness took the Greyjoy, his plans dashed with the news that they had to taken the children and the hound along on their ride through the wolfswood.

Before Theon had the chance for rebuttal, Joffrey was upon them. Despite the difference in height as they were mounted, Joffrey's gaze was petulant and annoyed. "Where's my horse? Didn't think to get it saddled for me, sister?"

"Your horse is in the stable, just where you left it dear brother. Lord Theon was not aware that you would and Lady Sansa would be joining us," she informed Joffrey crisply.

Joffrey's face twisted in annoyance, but he glanced at Clegane. "Hound, fetch my horse and see that Lady Sansa's is also prepared," the prince demanded, crossing his arms and reverting his attention to the pair in front of him. "We're riding in the wolfswood today? What's so different about this wood from the King's Wood?"

"Have you not heard Joffrey?" Ciri loved poking at her brother, making it seem as if she always had the upper hand in knowledge. In any case, that was true, but she adored having spectators to watch as she treated him like the child he was. "The forest is named for all the wolves that howl in the night and the trees are so thick, you wouldn't know how close you are to Bay of Ice because of the canopies."

"Are there truly so many wolves in the wood?" Joffrey aimed his question at Theon.

"Yes, your grace. We shouldn't encounter any today, they tend to stay away from riders, but I've brought this in case," Theon tapped the horn of his bow that was strapped to his saddle.

"And I've brought the hound," Joffrey retorted, his eyes trailing across the courtyard as a young Lady Sansa came into view.

The girl was in a gown of soft blue, her cloak fluttering behind her like the sail of a ship. Her overly eager expression made Ciri frown. How was the girl so blind that she could not see Joffrey for what he was? Perhaps she had not been around him long enough, but Cirilla was well aware that her brother was a little bugger that liked to taste the patience of others. He especially enjoyed they tried to lift a hand against him. Joffrey saw himself as untouchable.

_Not from me and he knows that, _Ciri thought, glowering at her brother.

"Princess Cirilla," Sansa approached giving her a polite curtsy, a willowy girl who would grow to be one of the most fair the land had seen. Even now the child had lovely auburn tendrils of hair and watery Tully blue eyes. There was not much Stark in this one, even in mannerisms.

"Greetings Lady Sansa, are you ready for our ride today?"

"I have been looking forward to it all morning," Sansa chirped with a demure smile.

"I bet you have," Ciri forced a smile, turning her eyes as Sandor approached with three horses. "Come now, let us not waste all the daylight." Without waiting for the two teens to get upon their saddles, she turned Arrax and began cantering toward the closest gate. Theon swiftly moved to flank her and before the others had the moment to join them, she spoke in a low voice, "Wouldn't it be a shame if we accidentally rode ahead and got separated?"

Theon's eyes flashed and a smile unfurled on his lips. "I think it would."

* * *

"What is it you do exactly?" Theon prompted as they rode through the edge of the wolfswood. The forest was thick and the canopy blotted out all light above them, casting them into a strange dusk. Trees towered above them and the thriving forest life chirped and tittered around them. Unlike the King's Wood, its northern counterpart was dense in vegetation and an ominous feeling. What hid around every corner was a mystery, which was both unnerving and exhilarating.

Joffrey, Sansa, and Clegane rode a short distance behind them, just enough out of earshot that the wouldn't have overlapping conversations.

"What is it I do? I'm a princess, I do as I please," Ciri mused at the peculiar question.

"That's not what I meant. Princesses don't carry dagger underneath their dresses."

"And how many princesses have you met before me?"

Theon pursed his lips. "None but-"

"Then how can you truly judge based off of no control group? Perhaps all princesses are like me."

"Your sister is not," Theon quipped.

"Ah, caught me there. Myrcella is certainly a soft and kind girl, quite the opposite of me," Ciri chuckled.

"And how is it that you got to that point? The point of carrying weapons on you? I'm not complaining, I think it's rather clever for a woman to be prepared for the worst."

"Certainly one of the few who agree," Ciri sighed, thinking of all the times her mother had chastised her for playing with dangerous weapons. Those warnings faded when her skills actually protected her. "King's Landing may seem like a wonderful place, between the amount of tourneys that occur and the gilded, themed armor of knights, but truth be told, many of the men south of the Twins lay hands on women without a second thought. I was once naive to such lust until a boy I thought was my friend decided he was 'friendly' enough to corner me and stick his hand down the front of my dress. And, since then, I've kept a knife on me."

"If you were anything like you are now in appearance, I can see why he might have imagined doing it, but not why he went through with it. Did he think you wouldn't tell?"

"Tell? I didn't tell. I broke his nose," a smile crawled onto her face. "I headbutted him so hard that his nose broke. My uncle stumbled upon us after. He was the only one I told and saw the boy away. I didn't want him killed and I supposed a broken nose was enough repayment for betraying my trust. I was kinder then. After that, my uncle and I grew close and I began accompanying him into King's Landing to various… er, _taverns._"

"You went to brothels? Your _uncle _brought you to brothels?" Theon's eyes grew bright at the prospect.

"Hush! You think I want my brother knowing I fancy going to them?" she threw a glance back at Joffrey, who had Sansa nearly eating from his palm. Enraptured by his own gloriousness, Joffrey was paying them no heed. "I didn't go there to fuck the whores. Many of the establishments have gambling areas too. I grew to fancy dice and cards, especially since I became quite good at-" she raised her hands, motioning to the plain silver ring on her index finger. "Sleight of hand." With a flourish, the ring disappeared from her finger and she opened her palms, revealing them to be empty. "Arrax, what are you doing with my ring in your ear?" she bent down to kiss her horse's neck, producing the ring betwixt her fingertips.

"And thus began the legacy of Princess Cirilla, resident royal of the brothel gambling tables," Theon teased.

"A bit of a notorious title that I like to keep quiet. You will keep this secret for me, won't you Lord Theon?" she gave him a delicate look, as if she really cared if Theon went around blabbing about it. From the glint in his eyes and the grin he reflected, she suspected there would be no middle ground. Either he would tell everyone or no one. "And what of you? It's all about me. I think I'd like to hear more about you."

"Well, since you've asked…" he stretched in his saddle. "What is it you wish to know?"

"I don't know. Anything really. Perhaps a favorite pastime or a little bit of deviousness that you're also quite proud of?"

"I'm quite proud of my prowess in certain… aspects," he drawled, as if testing the waters of whether or not he should dig into the details.

"Hm? And which are those?"

"I'm also tend to habit brothels from time to time, but not for the gambling tables. But that's only if there isn't a girl who hasn't caught my eye around the castle," he boasted.

"Oh, so you're the Lord of Deflowering, then?"

"Perhaps a title I'll retire soon. I've been thinking of settling down," he yawned, as if distracted.

"Ah, yes, at the ripe age of…"

"Twenty name days passed," Theon grinned.

"And why would you retire in your prime? There's so many more maidens who need fucking. You wouldn't just leave them there, would you?"

"Let us say there's a prospect that may induce the early retirement. That is, unless I'm not fully satisfied."

_You rotten little- _"Is that a deer?" she raised her voice loud so that Joffrey and Sansa could overhear her. "Lord Theon your bow, I think it went this way!" Spurring Arrax, she leaned close to the flank of her horse as he charged forward, kicking up pine needles and grass. Leaning with Arrax, she arched through a game path rather than the main road, the sides of her horse heaving as she pressed him, steering him to jump over a fallen tree. She didn't bother to glance behind her, waiting until she felt she had put a good distance between her and the children. With the hound there would be little to fear for their safety, but Ciri wanted to see what the Greyjoy would do when alone.

Tugging on Arrax's reins she pulled him to slow trot and then dismounted, her boots sinking into the undergrowth, her fingertips brushing verdant ferns near her. Clopping hoods landed with a thud on the other side of the fallen tree, Theon Greyjoy astride his horse with his chest heaving. She caught his gaze like a snap of fire. What had she expected to happen when they separated themselves from the others? Part of her was hoping that it wouldn't be tame.

Dismounting his horse, Theon took three long strides to meet her. Without a word he pushed her against one of the trees, pinning her legs with the weight of his body.

"Did you think I forgot that you stood me up last night?" Theon breathed.

"Ooh, I did? I'm _so _sorry," she retorted sarcastically, her lashes fluttering downward as her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She had a hand pressed against his breast, all the good it did her.

"You're a… strange woman," Theon muttered, his face barely an inch from hers.

"And that interests you, doesn't it?"

"Interests me?" Theon breathed a laugh. "Princess it's driving me mad-" he pressed his lips to hers hungrily, unable to hold himself back. Ciri savored the passionate kisses, it had been a while since she'd allowed a man to touch her in an intimate manner without shoving him away. It was clear the Greyjoy wanted more as his fingers slipped down from the tree and toward her collar. She'd entertain him for a bit, her lips parting in a small moan as his mouth burned a trail down her neck.

"Should I take this as your proposal for betrothal?"

Theon paused, his eyes bright and dancing as he gazed at her. "Take it however you want."

Before he could go back to what he was doing, Ciri's hand snapped up and she grabbed him squarely by the jaw. Turning his head so that he could look upon her again, her own face twisted in a thin, angry mask. "Do not mistake me, Theon, I do not allow men to touch me without reason. If there is no betrothal, get off of me."

"Dear princess," he was backpedaling verbally, trying to regain the ground he lost.

"Don't you patronize me… it seems like you aren't ready to retire that title just yet, hm?" she shoved him off of her and strode back to her horse.

"I have my desires. Is it so absurd that a man has desires?"

"It's not absurd, it's natural! However, I shall not be among those numbers you claim. Not unless you're going to be my fucking husband," she placed a hand on her hip and focused a cheeky glare on him. "Oh, don't look so spurred. Count this as one of my warnings. You were a rather good kisser, a shame you had to go and ruin the mood."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Please check chapter 4 for an announcement if you're here reading the newest chapter out! I apologize again if it's a little jarring for readers. Thank you all so much for your input.

\- Bitbasic

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

* * *

_Cersei_

She was glad to be done with this dreaded place, watching as the Lannister soldiers resumed packing up the gear on the cart horses that would be pulling along in the rear. Why anyone thought the north was a suitable place to live was beyond her. Everything was spread too thin, the people suspicious and wary of outsiders, and it snowed in the summer. It would be more than a month before she returned to King's Landing, to be greeted by the subtropical warmth and sun against the terracotta buildings of the city. However, as eager as she was to return, she was sorely disappointed that Eddard Stark had accepted Robert's offer to become Hand. From the words that Littlefinger had spared her, he had believed that Eddard would not defect from the north.

Maybe it was the condition of Jon Arryn's death or the fact that he wanted to keep close to his ward, Theon Greyjoy, but he and his two daughters along with a throng of his household guard were to ride alongside of the royal entourage. Cersei was irritated that Arryn had died and was to now be replaced with Ned. While Jon's inquirings were annoying, his reading of the lineage books had a wrench thrown with Ciri being Robert's true borne child. He never confronted her about it, but Pycelle was pivotal in keeping her informed on the late Hand's movements.

Only one babe had been Roberts, but he couldn't tell the stark difference between them. His eldest was a feminine reflection of him combined with the careful breeding and elegance of the Lannisters. The other three children were Lannister through and through; golden hair and emerald eyes. Even if she rued Robert, she could never hate the daughter he had put in her belly. Cirilla was the princess who stood a chance against this cruel world. Myrcella was a perfect doll, but she worried for her cub. Before too much longer, men would begin looking at her like Cirilla.

"Try not to look too disappointed sister, I'll return to King's Landing before you know it," Tyrion waddled up with his twisted, ugly legs.

Cersei did not hide her displeasure from the view of the tiny man that had killed her mother. "I hope you slip and fall off the wall," she told him thinly with a nasty smile.

"Thank you for ravishing me with your worry, dear sister," Tyrion quipped, his mismatched eyes settled on his niece as she led her dappled destrier out of the stable, rubbing her fingers down his nose. "I pity the Greyjoy... He's rather taken by one of the winter town girls. Ros I beileve her name was? Not that she cares all too much, I did take a trip down to the town."

Cersei's nose wrinkled in disgust, the casual manager in which a whore was referred to as a simple girl. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll leave such fancies behind in the north."

"I assume you'll have something to say about it if you discover he's habiting brothels?"

"I should be the least of his worries. Cirilla has enough friends in the slums of the city to know if the boy has cheated on her. And like her mother, she's a jealous girl."

"Gods help the men who marry into our family," Tyrion shook his head. "Try not to kill him before I return south."

"You should be requesting that of Cirilla, not me," Cersei said before her stunted brother hobbled toward her daughter. Even if she hated him, he'd still had a hand in all of her children, aside from Joffrey who despised him. Tommen and Myrcella adored their uncle and Cirilla had been tainted by his hobbies. She saw quite a bit of Tyrion in Ciri, from the manner which she spoke and held herself, to her idea of a fun trip being visiting a brothel to play a game of cards as nude women waltzed around.

Ciri bent down to hug her uncle, Cersei wondering how the girl wasn't repulsed by touching his stubby limbs or being close to his puggish face. A hand touched the small of her back and she turned to see Jaime behind her, glistening in the pale daylight in his white gilded armor. "Sister," he purred in her ear, inclining slightly. "Eager to leave, aren't you?"

Cersei did not reward him with an answer, not after he had pushed the boy Bran out the window. Only the Starks that were going south had made an appearance. Catelyn had remained diligent and beside her broken child as he remained in a deep slumber. She had been hoping that the fall would kill him, but the Seven were punishing her further for demanding the life of a boy beneath ten be rescinded for capturing her and Jaime in the act. Would he remember what he had saw when he woke up?

_For his sake and ours, I pray not,_ Cersei thought. She had spent her evening in the tiny Sept that Winterfell kept. Even Cersei was not emotionless and she was riddled with guilt. She could only imagine what Catelyn was going through with one of her sons on the brink of death, perhaps comatose for the rest of his days. She had prayed to the Mother and the Stranger. A small part of her hoped he would die, but she truly wished that he'd just not remember everything, that the fall had robbed him of that.

What would she do to someone that had pushed her child out the window?

_Theon_

The offer had been accepted. For now. He would be leaving Winterfell, still a ward of Eddard Stark, but he would be going south of the Twins to enjoy the luxuries his betrothed's family could afford. He would have counted himself lucky to get one of the Manderly girls, but never had he thought that he'd get the eldest princess of all the Seven Kingdoms. Finally, they saw the worth of the Iron Islands and the impressive navy they possessed. His family had been royal as well, at least until Eddard Stark had knocked them down a peg. His blood had been recognized and the southrons realized that he was just as smart a match as the Starks.

His mind was still heavy on what had happened in the wolfswood. She had spurned him, which was an uncommon occurrence and beyond vexing. However, when Theon reflected upon it he realized he'd said the wrong thing. Did he have any true intentions of giving up his insatiable lust for any comely woman? No, not unless the princess was a goddess in bed and prevented him from doing so. He doubted that, seeing she was technically still a maiden. Why did she care so much? From what Theon had heard, the king whored all the time. He might enjoy the mouth on her and the verbal sword fights, but a wife was a wife. A man should be able to curb his desire whenever he wanted, not at the behest of the one meant to bear his children. Ironborn especially. It was in his blood to have multiple women and Cirilla couldn't stop him. After all, once she belonged to him, she'd have no choice but to bend her Baratheon will.

Having packed what belongings he had, he'd spent the morning with Robb. His surrogate brother was quiet and repressed after Bran had fallen from the tower as were all of the Starks. Whether or not the boy would live still hung in the balance and the skill of Maester Lewin. For the sake of Lady Catelyn, Theon hoped that Bran would pull through. He was a resilient and healthy youth, perhaps those qualities would save him from the certain death he should have faced when tumbling from that high.

Passing some of the guards would would not be coming south, Theon flashed a smile at Shadd and Quent, who had just laughed at him when he'd told them he'd have the princess for himself. Not so funny anymore, is it? Theon thought as he brought his horse forward, noticing that his betrothed was stooping to speak with her uncle.

There had not been much exchange since their ride had ended, the taste of her lips burned into him. Hope had been he'd get more, but she'd taken quick offense to his attitude. That would change once she got to know him more and he knew that eventually he'd have her eating from out of his palm. It would just take a bit of work, that was all.

As Tyrion departed to go with Jon Snow and Benjen Stark to the Wall, Theon sidled up to replace him. Cirilla was ravishing as always, her hair drank in all the light around them, darker than the depths of the deepest cavern. The loose curls had been pinned away from her face and captured in an ornate braid down her back.

"Good morning, my lady," Theon greeted.

A bored expression played over the princess's face, one that made his skin crawl. "Good morning," she said gruffly, getting up onto her horse. News had likley reached her that the offer had been laid and accepted. How soon would the wedding be held? How long would he have to wait to bed her? They were betrothed, so theoretically, he didn't need to wait. "Have you straightened yourself out?"

Theon breathed a laugh, fingers tightening on the reins of his horse. "We are betrothed now if that's what you're asking."

"Stating the obvious now, aren't we?" while her expression did not change, her striking eyes burned with Baratheon fury. Canting her stirrups one way, she leaned down, just a few feet away from his face. "Betrothed or not, heed my words Greyjoy or I'll break the betrothal off."

He cocked an arrogant smirk, he couldn't help it. "And what would your father say of that? He was the one who proposed it."

Cirilla snapped back in her saddle. "Nothing. I've done this before..." she paused to give him a thin look. "And you best beware, there will be quite a few suitors trying to scare you off."

Theon gamboled onto his steed and chuckled. "I think I can fend off a few green knights of the south."

"Ooh, green knights? What does that make you? Have you fought in war, commanded an army... Have you even seen the light leave the eyes of a man speared on your sword?" she paused, waiting for an answer, but Theon didn't have one to give her. Pushing Arrax forward she flashed a dazzling, but befuddling smile. "Until then, you've a lot to prove you're worthy of a princess."

_Stay your temper, Greyjoy. She's yours, that smile of hers will vanish like mist on the moors,_ he reminded himself, the rows of carriages beginning to groan and protest as the ensemble started moving. Theon had spent ten years at Winterfell and it was surreal that he was finally able to leave. A letter had been sent to Pyke, to his father, in regards to the betrothal he had secured. Eddard had allowed minimal contact between them and thus Theon knew not his father other than the fuzzy memories he had.

One step closer to King's Landing. One step closer to regaining what was rightfully his.

* * *

He didn't get another taste for the weeks passed on the trip to King's Landing. They might have been betrothed, but the Baratheon was just a stubborn as her family was famed for. She'd tolerated him, let him ride alongside of him, but she kept her distance, speaking with her typical snarky attitude and making his believe he was making some sort of headway. Theon never recalled having to work so hard for a woman, but the thrill of the chase kept him going. Would it be worth it at the end? Or would he be disappointed that Cirilla was not as good in bed as she was with words?

With so many people around, he had few moments to try and make passes at her. Instead, she'd use people as barriers, be it her little sister or Sansa Stark. Sansa was probably the most annoying. Aside from being infatuated with Joffrey, she looked up at Cirilla with large, doe-like eyes. You would have thought that Sansa was seeing each of them for the first time. Cirilla had taken to calling her 'little sister' despite Joffrey and the girl not yet being married. And said 'little sister' was now apart of Ciri's little flock. The only reprieve Theon got was when Sansa was off bothering Joffrey.

The side that Cirilla had given him fleeting glimpses of, the sarcastic, dry, and foul mouthed one, rarely came out in public. Of course, she still poked fun and jested, but there was a nonchalance to her, a disinterest in the men around her and keen intrigue small happenings and rumors. He'd caught her playing dice with the Lannister guards once, in which she robbed all of them of dozens of silver stags. The guards were dismayed, but seemed expectant that they would lose to her. Perhaps for the exchange of their money, they got to savor the princess while she was grinning, wild and gorgeous, who wasn't going to shank them with a knife for a few games of dice.

He hadn't noticed it much in Winterfell, but he could see the eyes of men trailing after her. The Lannister guards, who seemed to have a better repore with her, often kept close. Whether that was by command of her mother or they just wanted to have some of her time, Theon could not be certain. Their familiarity vexed him, especially seeing that she was much kinder to them than she was to him.

_She's going to be my future wife. She should spent more time trying to impress me, _he thought bitterly.

"Are you going to keep sulking or actually try and impress her?" the voice gave him a start. When he turned to narrow his eyes at the speaker, he realized it was Jaime Lannister, her uncle. Gilded in his pale armor, the handsome knight grinned at him, eyes listing in the direction of his niece who was riding alongside of Sansa Stark. The girl had been inconsolable since her direwolf had been put to the sword for something Lady hadn't done.

"It seems," Theon began slowly. "That she doesn't care much for mine."

Jaime snorted. "Then you've got that going for you, not too bad I must say. Better than her putting a knife in you… I might even say she's fond of you if she's warranting you with the silent treatment."

"She _likes _me? Certainly a strange way to show it," Theon grumbled.

Jaime broke out into a fit of laughter. "Don't tell me you've already given up? If you give up, you've lost. I've watched Cirilla grow up and if she doesn't like a man, she'll threaten his life. Has she threatened you?"

"Uh, no."

"Then you've got a clear shot. I don't know why you're sulking over here. You're betrothed to my lovely niece. Men would kill for that honor. Man _have _been killed for that honor. I daresay that she's got quite a bit of her mother in her with a dash of Baratheon. A dangerous combination."

Theon didn't know whether or not to believe Jaime. He'd ridden with the King's Guard a few times now, listening to their advice on tourneys, King's Landing, and fighting. Theon's attention had been fixated on Jaime and Selmy specifically, seeing they were the most famous among the guard. But Jaime had no loyalty to him and all to Cirilla, seeing she was both in the royal family and his own blood.

"If you really think there's still hope…" Theon drawled, despite the fact that all of his other advances had been ignored.

"Only if you're persistent," Jaime nodded before leaning toward him, dropping his voice. "But if you break my niece's heart, I'll kill you. She's dealt with enough seeing her own mother and father at odds because he's a cheating bastard. I'd hate for you to make the same mistake."

Chills rakes down Theon's spine as the Lannister sat back down on his horse and flashed a handsome smile. His face seemed friendly, but his emerald eyes were hard and serious. _He'll really do it. He's killed a king before. What's stopping him from killing me if I upset Cirilla? _"I-" the words died in his throat.

"That's a good chap. Keep up the good work and I'll be your uncle soon too!" Jaime gave him an amicable slap on the shoulder and trotted off to check on one of the wheelhouses that held the queen and two of the royal children.

Theon turned his eyes back to where Sansa and Ciri were riding. Was her silent treatment really a test? Or was she still upset with him over what had happened in the wolfswood? _Fuck it. _Steering his midnight charger over to the girls, he smiled widely as Sansa and Cirilla observed him.

"Oh, Theon!" Sansa returned his smile brightly. "We were just talking about hunting and how you, Robb, and Jon used to go with Ser Rodrik."

"I expect that the King's Wood also has wonderful hunting grounds to conquer," Theon inclined.

"My uncle, Renly, often goes with my father for days. Perhaps you'll have the chance to join them," Cirilla replied, seemingly in a good mood while talking with Sansa. "We're growing closer everyday."

"I know, I'm so excited to see King's Landing. I've heard so much."

"Well worry not, you'll know when we're close," a knowing smile unfolded on the princess's face.

"Oh, there's a break in the trees before the forest?" Sansa asked hopefully.

"No, you'll smell it. Being highly populated it doesn't quite smell of roses. The Red Keep is far out and almost on its own little peninsula, so the winds up that high tent to push the stench away, but while he head up to the castle… You'll know," Cirilla warned kindly.

Sansa's brows pulled together, almost as if she didn't believe that the beautiful city she had heard of could actually smell. "Oh, well… I hear the gardens in the Red Keep as spectacular."

"That I can agree on. Probably one of the best smelling places in King's Landing," she smirked, brightening the girl's mood. "Looks like we're taking a break soon."

"I should go find Prince Joffrey. Thank you for allowing me in your company, my lady," Sansa said respectfully.

"You can call me Ciri, Sansa. We're going to be family soon, anyways," the princess said as Sansa turned her horse and cantered over to where the princeling was chatting with Ser Barristan.

"Can I call you Ciri?" Theon asked her once Sansa was out of earshot.

"No," she said immediately, but the corners of her lips betrayed her. "So what changed? Now you wish to talk to me again?"

"I always wanted to talk to you, it's you who seemed less receptive," Theon wasn't going to take the fall for the rift that had gotten between getting to know each other.

"You certainly didn't try hard enough to entertain me," she reminded him.

"Do you think that I'm a jester?" his brows furrowed.

"No, but I thought you were clever. Perhaps I was wrong," her sardonic look made him tighten the reins on his horse.

_I shouldn't have anything to prove, _Theon thought crossly, but there was a deep need. He _had _to show her that he wasn't useless. He'd experienced this feeling before and it was why chasing women had been so rewarding. Where did he belong? Often Theon wondered if he was more Stark than Greyjoy. Despite the kraken emblazoned on his chest, Eddard Stark was more his father than Balon. Theon just never realized it, not until he'd left Winterfell and was one of the few northmen among the southrons. His confusion for where he belonged was vented when he fucked women, but as he gazed up at Cirilla, he not only wanted to fuck her, but show that he wasn't good for nothing. If she wanted someone who was clever, he'd be just that.

"Sansa is a sweet girl, isn't she?" Theon shifted the subject.

"Ill suited for King's Landing, but yes," her eyes listed forward and she released a deep sigh.

"Something else plaguing you?" he inquired.

"She's a sweet girl. Perhaps too sweet for my brother," was all the answer she gave him.

Theon had witnessed the fury of the eldest, Baratheon son when he came simpering back, claiming that he had been mauled by one of the direwolves. The queen had demanded that the animals be culled, stating that they were too dangerous. Arya's wolf was gone, but Sansa's remained. Lady had been a well trained creature, sweet and courteous like Sansa. For the pup to have been put to the sword for something she hadn't done… It boiled Theon's blood. But he could not speak against the queen, not when his betrothal could be broken in an instance. Cirilla had been steely eyed as Sansa sobbed, consoling the girl later, but she did not dispute her mother either.

"He's still young," Theon argued, but the boy liked to see people suffer. He'd caught Joffrey taunting the cook's son when they had stopped the ensemble one afternoon.

"And misguided. My uncle Tyrion has tried to rein him in and he's receptive to me, but he slips back the moment neither of us are in his company," Cirilla grumbled, trying to blow a loose curl out of her face.

"Some people are beyond helping. Maybe I could try and speak with him."

"Don't," Ciri said in a low voice, her striking eyes pinning him to his spot. "I already know how you feel about him after the wolf fiasco. I don't need you creating more animosity, even if by accident."

Theon grit his teeth and nodded. "As you wish, my lady."

"Do you want to go for a ride? I know this area pretty well. We're a few days out from the city," Ciri offered, the first amount of headway Theon had made in a while.

"I can agree to that… I wonder if it will be anything like the wolfswood," a smirk crawled onto his face and Ciri threw him a disparaging look.

"For the sake of your pride, I hope not," Ciri turned her head forward and nudged her horse forward.

"Well, that is with a few minor adjustments," Theon pressed, bringing his horse alongside of hers.

Her lashes flicked over to him. "Hm, I think not. You still have more to prove to me. Giving you a taste that early made you blunder."

_She'll be yours eventually. Patience Greyjoy, _Theon chastised himself mentally and escorted the princess through a forest of birch and oak.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This story has been changed to rated M for sexual content. This chapter also contains said content. Each chapter that contains such will have a warning at the beginning.

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

* * *

_Theon_

King's Landing reeked. Just as warned, the wave of the city's stench reached the party just before they crested a hill to overlook an enormous set of slums that were outside the massive walls of the capitol. Boasting half a million people came at a grievous cost. He glanced over at Cirilla, who had been more forgiving in the past few days, though she still had a bit of a cold shoulder. The teasing bit back by Winterfell had made him wish for more, but with six weeks past, he hadn't even been graced with a small peck on the cheek.

"Mm, the smell of shit in the morning. Don't you just love it?" Ciri mused, glancing over at him with a wicked countenance.

"Nothing quite like it," Theon smirked.

None of the commoners bothered them, but they were incredibly receptive when compared to the leery northern peasants. Lining the streets, they cheered and clapped at the sight of their king on a horse. Even if he was a fat disgrace, his people were happy and they revelled in the Baratheon glory. In her father's shadow, Cirilla gleamed like dragonglass. Some of the low born were shouting, calling after her and the king, hoping that she would grace them with a sweep of her electric blue eyes. His stomach felt odd, a sort of twisting that made him frown.

Picking at his fur lined collar, Theon realized he'd have to get clothing that was more suitable for the heat. He was sweltering in his surcoat, but it was the best piece of finery that he had. Perhaps that afternoon he'd take a trip with some of the other men to explore the city, chance a look at the docks, and experience the bowels of Flea Bottom. Immediately upon entering the Dragon's Gate, his eyes found a womanly in a scantily clad gown. When the light caught the wrinkled silk, it illuminated her perfectly sculpted form beneath. He cleared his throat and looked ahead, reminded duly that it'd been much longer without a woman than he could recall and he doubted he'd get a chance with Cirilla anytime soon.

The Red Keep loomed above, the hooves of dozens of horses clattering up the cobbled path. Soon they were flanked by additional gold cloaks, the City Guard. An unsavory aroma curtailed them until they crossed the bridge leading into the enormous castle of red stone. Winterfell was large, but the girth of the northern garrison was in how many acres it spanned. Rather than spanning a long distance, the Red Keep was built upon rocky cliffs and was built up in gargantuan towers. With a strong sea breeze winding from the bay, Theon was brought back to his childhood. Salt and brine on the wind, it wiped away the majority of the stench.

Waiting inside the courtyard was an army of servants ready to help the weary travelers and royal family. Theon brought his horse over to one of the grooms. He caught sight of Wyl, Porther, and Varly, guards of the Stark household, who were muttering among themselves. Lord Eddard had been at the front of the entourage and their horses had already been seen to. Noticing that the Greyjoy was watching, Porther waved him over with a wide grin on his face.

After he handed his horse off, he went to join the guards. "Congrats on the engagement. Quent nearly pissed himself when he heard," Wyl beamed, slapping his hard on the shoulder.

"No kidding! A princess? You've really outdone yourself Greyjoy," Porther agreed. "The guys and I intend to go out into the city. You're not a married man yet."

Theon caught the man's drift and glanced around the courtyard for Cirilla. With the princess nowhere in site he shrugged his shoulders and nodded. He could certainly use break from riding and have someone ride him.

"No sense in freshening up just yet, am I right?" Varly jested, eliciting a few raucous chuckles from the other northmen.

"You all have your coin? I thought I saw a place on the way that looked promising," Porther said. "Shouldn't be a long walk, it was in the nicer part. Been wanting to stretch my legs. Too much riding."

"Agreed, I feel like I've been riding a fucking anvil south," Varly rubbed the inside of his thighs.

"So Theon, tell us, how are things going with your betrothed?" Wyl asked curiously.

He trusted these men, those that he'd known for years. "She's definitely engaging, but also vexing."

"She's only vexing because she won't give you what's between her legs. Certainly not something the proud Greyjoy is accustomed to," Porther grinned wickedly.

"She's a princess. She has to guard her maidenhood, it's what makes her valuable," Wyl reminded Porther with a small scowl.

"That's not all that makes her valuable," Theon interjected before he could stop himself. The men glanced at him with a startled look, almost as if Theon had said something unfathomable.

"Tell us what it is then. What makes a princess valuable?"

"Cirilla is not _a _princess. She's _the _princess. Sure, a noble borne lady's value is in what duty she can offer her family, be that securing swords from another family, but…" how could he phrase it that these idiots would understand him? They didn't have these bouts with her, trading words and snarky looks.

"Ah, is our little Greyjoy smitten? Are you certain that you want to come to the whorehouse with us?" Porther poked fun at him, bringing heat to Theon's face.

"I'm not! You wouldn't understand," he stammered, brushing past them as they exited the Red Keep. They wouldn't have a chance at a high borne woman, be she noble or royal.

King's Landing was a city of color. Red stone, cobbled path, bright clothing, flowers stocked in planters… In his finery, people noticed him. They'd notice him more once he had Cirilla on his arm or riding beside him. Cirilla. He pushed her to the back of his mind. He deserved some time off to relax and enjoy the luxury. After the arduous journey south, he wanted nothing more than a woman on top of him.

The brothel that Porther had mentioned was in a cleaner portion of the city. Giggles escaped the open windows along with moans of ecstasy. Theon's heart fluttered, the sensation heating his groin as they entered through the open doors covered in sheer gossamer. A thick cloud of perfume and incense smacked him in the face. He was accustomed to the incense, but in tandem with the exotic perfume it was nearly intoxicating. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, they passed by men on chairs, in benches, around braziers as half naked women slid around them, soft laughs grating against his ears.

A man with peppered hair and a goatee greeted them, a mockingbird brooch pinning his fine doublet. His eyes slid between them and paused. "Ah, it seems the northerners have arrived. What kind of girls can I interest you in?" he greeted, mustache twitching as he clasped his hands together.

"Any is fine for me, as long as she's got big tits," Porther's eyes were everywhere but on the owner of the establishment.

Theon felt the air around him dissolve and the voices became muddled. He barely noticed that the rest of his company was being escorted away by courtesans and he was left standing with the cleanly trimmed man.

"And for you, my lord?"

"One with black hair and a small chest, preferably tan," Theon grumbled, uncertain why he was so uncomfortable. Sure, this brothel was much nicer than the one back in winter town, but he'd been inside a brothel dozens of time before. He was no shy lad, he'd fucked more than his fair share of women.

"Hm, specific tastes? I think I have one that'll suit you. If you would come this way, I'll have the girl meet you there," the man led him to a private chamber. Against the wall had been built a a long set of cushions rather than a bed. A table was situated in the center with a glass decanter and expensive liquor. "She'll be in shortly."

With the door clicking shut behind the owner, Theon strode over to the table and poured some of the whisky into a glass. Throwing himself onto the cushions, he drew a deep breath and sighed, hoping that the alcohol would calm his nerves. When the door creaked open again, a slender beauty approached him. She was narrow all the way down, he could see that through her thin, sleeveless dress.

She was lovely, her chest and waist narrow, but there was little curve to her. Her black hair was dark, but it was thick and textured. Brown eyes flickered at him and Theon suppressed a frown. _No that's wrong. _She had a beautiful skin tone, a warm mocha, but it wasn't what he wanted. She wasn't what he wanted. _Too late, she's already here. _

"My lord," the woman purred as she prowled closer, her foreign accent dripping. "I hear you're from the north and all of the northmen I've met before have been much more… skilled than the flower lords of the south." She had made her way next to him, running her slender fingers along his dark breeches. "It's not very often that I have the honor of pleasuring a northern lord."

"Then get to it," Theon told her, eyes flicking to her gown as he took another sip from his glass.

The woman can him a demure smile and slipped the gown off effortlessly. She had small breasts, her nipples dark and perky, but rather than an hourglass frame, she was straight like a board, almost childlike. Theon tried not to let it bother him as she began unlacing his trousers, her fingers sliding against his manhood. Despite the discomfort, he reacted immediately.

"My lord is… well endowed," the whore told him, thumbing the top of his manhood.

Theon closed his eyes and let her touch him. Her lips touched him and he tried to savor it, let the skill of the courtesan take him over, but his stomach hurt and his chest burned. Was the liquor bad? He'd never balked from having sex before. Drawing a shaky breath he threw the empty glass against the pillows.

"Turn over," he told her, drawing a curious look from the whore. He couldn't bear to look at her, not when he wanted her to have blue eyes and hair like the midnight sky. Now that she wasn't looking at him, Theon began fucking her, just trying to finish as swiftly as he could. That didn't take long, seeing how long it had been since he'd had a woman. He pulled out, spending himself on her back before jerking himself back into his breeches.

"My lord," the woman purred, patting the pillows beside her.

"I am… I'm done," Theon told her, dropping a golden dragon into the copper bowl on the table. His cheeks were flushed and he didn't feel satiated. Instead he felt dirty, sick, and he wanted to vomit. Between the obnoxious scent of perfume and incense, he stumbled out of the brothel and onto the road. He didn't wait for the other men to finish their escapades. Instead he stalked through the streets and found a tailor, trying to calm his nerves as he looked at the finery of the south.

_What did I do? Why do I feel so ill? _

Spending coin did make him feel slightly better, but he still felt ragged when he returned to the castle. Perhaps a bath would suit him well.

_Ciri_

Baths were among her favorite thing. Especially back in the comfort of her own chambers. Built into the center of her expansive room was a marble tub, filled with mineral and flower infused water. She hadn't waited for anyone, ferreting up to her room to start the water and thumb through her elegant gowns. Finally, all the amenities of home were back on her fingertips. She'd been so hasty that Phenora hadn't even shown up to her chambers yet. Not that she minded, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Scrubbing away the dirty skin from travel and shaving her skin of hairs that had sprouted over the weeks, Ciri felt blissful as she reclined in the bath water and gazed out the open windows overlooking the sea, curtains fluttering in the wind.

Letting out a long yawn, she pulled herself out and began drying herself. What look would she choose today to drive the Greyjoy mad? She could only imagine how he felt, not being able to put hands on any woman for weeks. She'd already gleaned that he was the type who got around and didn't go long without sex. His vexation was due in part to that and she found it amusing. She had a creeping feeling that he wouldn't be able to hold himself over once he arrived in the city and would probably be visiting a brothel.

_Not that I blame him. He's accustomed to a certain way of life and we're not married yet, _she rationalized. Growing up with a father who rarely slept with her mother, she knew that men were pigs. She had experienced it first hand. Part of her just hoped that once they did get married that Theon would put a stopper to his hedonism and remain loyal to her. _A tall order, but I've made it clear where I stand. _

While drying her hair, she glanced in her wardrobe, finding some of the Dornish gowns that gave her mother a heart attack. Whores gowns as she preferred to call them. But the Dornish were so much more clever. They knew the weather was hot and so they created dresses that reflected the weather. No dreaded long sleeves or heavy cotton. Her mother prided herself on the immaculate attire she adorned herself in. Ciri prided herself on her attitude.

Ciri chose a warm, sleeveless, amber dress that was hemmed with braided leather. The leather straps criss crossed against the completely open back. Had she larger breasts, they would threaten to fall out of the fabric that overlapped and showed her tan collar and a peep between her breasts. The bodice clung to her figure and the skirt fluttered around her legs comfortably, a light shifting fabric.

Content with her half dried curls, she left the bulk of it down, picking a gold antlered pin to secure a few strands from her face. She picked earrings of amber droplets and a few golden bangles for each wrist before she stretched. This was her. Not the swaddled up lady in the north. Even if it had smelled better in Winterfell, she had missed the breathtaking view of the sea. Standing on her balcony, she let the wind tousle her hair, drying it further. Smiling slightly to herself as she leaned on the bannister, she barely heard the gentle knock on the door behind her.

Groaning, she headed for the door and cracked it open. "Oh! Uncle Renly," Ciri opened the door wider so that her uncle could stride in. It was strange to think of him as her uncle when he was only a few years older than her. He'd always been more like a big brother.

Renly's eyes glinted as he took her in. "A daring dress from Dorne. One of your favorites, if I'm not mistaken?"

Ciri wrapped her arms around her uncle and Renly lifted her off her feet, spinning her around. "You should have come north too," she said breathlessly after he set her back on her feet.

"Someone had to take care of King's Landing while my brother was away," he reminded her with a smile. "What was there to see anyways?"

"Winterfell was huge, even bigger than the Red Keep," she informed him before guiding him toward the balcony she had been enjoying the view by. She grabbed the flagon of wine and a pair of glasses so that they could sit on the lounging chairs on the balcony. "So, did anything exciting happen while I was gone?"

Renly took the wine from her and filled the goblets, placing the Arbor Gold on a small foot table. "Well, Ser Horsten nearly threw himself from the ramparts when he discovered you were finally betrothed _and _to an Ironborn."

Ciri snorted into her wine. "Too melodramatic for me and not quick enough with his words. Sweet man, but…"

"You need more spice to compliment your salt."

"Ah, I'd say more salt to compliment _my _spice, uncle," she winked at him and gazed out at the ocean. "So it was quiet here then."

"As quiet as it can be in the largest city in Westeros. There was plenty to do to see that everything was arranged in time for Robert's return. Lord Eddard is certainly… an interesting man."

"Oh, you've already had a council meeting?" she arched a brow and turned her head back.

"A brief one, he called it as soon as everyone got off their horses. I would have thought he'd like to freshen up, but the Starks are all business. He seems a good man, I can see why Robert wanted him as hand, but… I'm worried he's going to stick his nose in the wrong places."

"Hm, yes I can see him bristling my mother's fur. She's not keen on him being here. In fact, she wanted my grandfather to be Hand. But my father always has the final word, much to her chagrin," Ciri shrugged. "So what is on our plate now that we've returned."

"Robert is adamant on a tourney for the arrival of the Hand."

"Another blasted tourney? How the fuck are we going to afford that?" Her father loved tourneys more than he liked whores in his bed. However, he had them so often that the crown had gone bankrupt because of it. The money they now used was loaned from her grandfather or the Iron Bank.

"Littlefinger said he'd find the coin," Renly mused, rolling his shoulders lazily.

"Borrow it, you mean. Uhg," she groaned, shaking her head.

"Princesses are supposed to be excited by tourneys," Renly reminded her, mischief clear on his face.

"If I have to sit through one more fucking tourney where Loras deems me as the most beautiful maid-"

Renly chortled, nearly spilling wine on himself. She knew about his inclinations and closeness to the flower knight, but she'd never hated him for it. Her uncle was the one Baratheon that filled the void of her father. She trusted her uncle inexplicitly, just like she did with Tyrion. "I'll tell him not to. But you know as well as I do, if he doesn't deem it, some other hedge knight will."

"You know why I choose to wear such light gowns?" Ciri asked him.

"Because it's more comfortable?" he guessed.

"Because I have nowhere to hide a keep a blasted token."

Both of them fell into a fit of laughter.

Once their delight faded, Renly swirled his wine around in the goblet before sparing his niece a curious look. "I know Robert is eager to go hunting again. I think he intends to test you betrothed."

"Always with the hunting... You'd think with how much he does it, he wouldn't be so fat," Cirilla muttered before tasting the sweet light hints of the golden vint. "Theon is a skilled hunter. The Starks enjoy going into their wolfswood often enough. I do not doubt he shall prove himself among your ranks."

"How do you like him?" Renly questioned, his countenance perceptive as he leaned on her words.

"He's clever enough... Enough to keep up with me. But he's arrogant and cocky-"

"Sounds a bit like someone I know," Renly smirked.

"But within reason. I know how to control myself," Cirilla argued.

"Or so you think. There is no fury like yours or Robert's," Renly teased before lowering his chalice. "So, when is the wedding?"

A topic that she had wondered as well. "Not anytime soon I expect. Mother wanted Theon here in King's Landing to gauge how he would act and adjust. The Ironborn have a poor reputation and I know my mother worries for my well being. I have no doubt that if he steps out of line she'll cut the engagement off."

"Poor lad, surrounded by more enemies than he can count," Renly mused, shaking his head lightly. "And no man is perfect. Certainly, she can't expect him to be as well."

"You know how she is," Ciri sighed, casting her eyes out onto the ocean.

"Well, when the wedding does come around, I'll help you plan for it. Your mother has a good sense of taste, but not _your_ sense of taste. She'll wrap you up in the thickest wools to marry you off rather than the silks you prefer."

"No doubt it'll be like pulling teeth fighting mother for control of my wedding," she chuckled, finishing off her goblet of wine. Now that she was back in King's Landing, a new chapter of her life was about to unfold. Up until this point she had been building her resources and her clutches in the city beneath the castle. Her plans had been dampered by prospective suitors, but she had been trying to scare them away with her coarseness. But a princess was still a princess and they wouldn't be deterred. At least, not until she was betrothed to someone they didn't know.

_Poor Theon, he's in a bigger trench than he realizes._

_Theon_

He felt better after getting cleaned up and adorning himself in new vestments. Only just putting a black doublet slashed with gold, he paused as he thought he heard someone knocking on the doors to his chambers. Frowning, he approached the door and when he opened it, one of the King's Guard was standing outside; Ser Arys Oakheart. The handsome knight was standing rigid, almost as if he were made of stone.

"His grace requests your attention in his solar. I am to see you there," Ser Arys informed him.

"Very well," cracking his shoulders, Theon strapped on his belt equipped with his dirk. He felt rather... underdressed. His ensemble was muted and dark, he had no sword to boast as he preferred bow and his dagger. Perhaps he'd have to change that, he'd noticed nearly every other man had a sword on him even if he wasn't skilled at using it.

_Why does the king want to see me? Is this going to be a private meeting?_ Theon wondered as he was escorted through the terracotta halls. Everything was so ornate here, between the tiny masonry details to the elegant tapestries that hung from the walls. Theon had found them intriguing at first, but the more he looked, the more exuberant and overdone all of Red Keep was.

King Robert was waiting for him an enormous solar with a balcony that was long than the chambers Theon had been allowed. His fat, royal highness was seated in a chair that had been custom made large enough for his girth. Behind his wiry beard, Theon thought he could see the handsome man that had once been there. A stab of fear hit him, realizing that King Robert could very well be Theon if he indulged his desires. Robert had money, booze, and women and look where that had gotten him. He became lazy, complacent, and gluttonous with no aspirations to work toward.  
_  
I'll practice the sword for several hours a day if it keeps me from looking like that,_ Theon thought stiffly as he bent his knee before Robert.

"Oh piss on that, you're going to be my son by law. Rise Theon," King Robert spat. Behind him were two more King's Guard, Ser Barriston and Ser Mandon Moore. Barriston was friendly enough, but Moore unnerved him with his pale grey eyes that stared into space, oddly flat and lifeless.

Getting to his feet, he stood awkwardly in front of Robert, uncertain of what to do. "You summoned me, your grace?"

"Just Robert," the king snorted, gesturing to a chair situated nearby.

Theon accepted the chair and sat across from his future father-in-law.

"How are you liking King's Landing?" Robert asked him.

"Certainly... Interesting to say the least," Theon managed.

"Whores walk the streets in their thin gowns, knights journey here from all across the land, traders from the Free Cities bring their exotic wares to the port, and the finest armor a man has ever seen are crafted in the bellows of King's Landing," Robert boasted, letting out a small wistful sigh. "And alas, here I am, a fat fuck who can barely get on his own horse."

Theon blinked, utterly astounded by what the king had just said. He remained mute, not wishing to elicit Robert's infamous anger.

"Don't become like me Theon," Robert sighed, pushing himself up in his seat. "I see a lot of myself in you. I just about gave up after Lyanna was killed. Could never look at another woman the same as her. My wife..." he hissed a sigh and shook his head. "Hates me, resents me, plots against me. My first born son and heir to the throne is a spoilt cunt. And my eldest daughter is more suited to rule than he is, but she's a fucking woman." Robert's face was purpling at this point, but he drew a deep breath and steadied himself, his striking eyes setting on Theon in a bright fury. "Welcome to King's Landing, Greyjoy."

Theon forced a smile, fingers tightening on the armrests of his chair. "Thank you."

"Speaking of which, how are you faring with Ciri? She's a bit of trouble, got too much of me in her," Robert smirked, thinking dreamily of his eldest child.

"The princess is certainly unlike any other woman I've met. I am eager for our marriage," Theon told him, finally relaxing after Robert's outburst.

"She's going to put you through some trials, but don't get deterred. I can tell she likes you," Robert insisted before forcing himself to his feet. He picked up an unopened bottle of champagne and grinned wildly at Theon. "I thought, if my daughter were going to marry anyone, it would have to be someone who came from a culture where strength was prized, man or woman."

"I've spent most of my adult life with Lord Eddard," Theon reminded the king as he opened the bottle with a pop and poured them each a cup.

"Aye, I know that, but you're still Ironborn. One day you shall return to your home to take back what is yours. Is that not what you do? From what Ned told me, the Ironborn take what they want. They do not beg, do not ask, do not assume... Interesting ideals. Somewhat like how I took the throne," Robert smirked to himself and offered Theon a glass. "To a prosperous marriage between the Baratheons and Greyjoys."

Theon toasted Robert and felt a bit more comfortable around his future father by law.

"In a couple of days I plan to go hunting. I'd like it if you came along. I've heard you're quite the hunter yourself, we could use someone of your skill in our party," Robert invited.

_This is a test, he's testing me,_ Theon thought. "Sounds like a grand time."

"And how about tourneys? I plan to have one for Ned's new appointment. You're going to contend, aren't you?"

Theon had been in some of the tourneys held up in the north, but he doubted they were anything when compared to one in King's Landing. Knights would be attending from all across the land just to get a chance to win. He hadn't intended on needing jousting armor and he'd never worn too much armor, as Ironborn were impartial. A man wearing a suit of armor on a ship was as good as dead if the vessel went down.

"I'll have to acquire some armor for jousting and get practicing. Been awhile since I sat a horse for tilting," Theon told him honestly.

"Need armor? I'll see it done. You need to look fine if you're to marry my daughter," Robert snuffed, having already finished his cup of champagne.

Theon sat and had simple conversation with King Robert for a while longer, until there was a rap from the door and the queen entered. Her eyes were bright and venomous like wildfire and Theon sensed it was time for him to go. After pardoning himself and politely greeting Cersei, he slipped out of the solar and wandered the castle. By then, it was mid afternoon. He still hadn't got the chance to get a good look around, having been escorted directly to his chambers.

Theon made way for the rear of the castle where the gardens overlooked the ocean. This was not the one he recalled from his childhood, but it glittered with cerulean opulence. Familiar aromas of salt and brine greeted him, taking him back to his youth. Warm wind ran its fingers through his dark hair and he sighed, leaning against the bannister that dropped sheerly and plummeted to the cliffs below. Waves crashed against the craigs that the Red Keep was built upon, the sounds like a gentle and relaxing murmur in his ears. He had missed the sea.

"Doing a little sightseeing?" the all too familiar voice behind him made him turn to see Cirilla. He felt his voice simper away as he saw the gown she was wearing, her arms and shoulders bare, her long hair down and wild, and peeps of flesh revealed by the thin amber silk.

Immediately, his memory flashed back to the brothel he had been at in the morning and guilt overwhelmed him. The whore was nothing in comparison to the regality and beauty of his betrothed and he had still done it. _Don't become like me Theon,_ Robert's words echoed in his head and Theon's stomach twisted. _Why am I like this?_

Ciri flounced over, leaning on the bannister beside him, the bangles around her wrist chiming. When she bent over he noticed that the back of her gown was open save for that leather that crossed in an X formation. He could see the womanly curves of her hips, unlike the flat and board like courtesan that he'd been given. He wanted to touch her, run his fingers along her exposed back, but his cheeks burned. He didn't deserve to. Not after what he had done that morning.

"I see you've gotten some clothing more suitable for the weather," she observed, eyes cast out into the waves as the wind blew back her obsidian curls.

"Yes, the surcoat was too much for the heat here. A tailor on the Street of Looms had a few items that fit me well enough, but I had to commission some other items that are in my house colors," Theon told her, prying his eyes from her to gaze at the ocean.

"So you went out shopping this morning? That's it?" she didn't look at him, but suspicion crept up on him, buzzing annoyingly in his ear.

"Uh," all semblance of wit fled him. He'd been dreading this, he just hadn't known it.

"Because Lord Baelish told me that a few northmen went into one of his establishments this morning. And he did describe a handsome man in a coat with a golden kraken..." she drawled.

Theon's mind flashed to the well dressed man with a goatee, the mockingbird brooch pinned at his throat. That was Lord Baelish?

"Was a long journey, I really don't know how you held out that long," Ciri chuckled, finally turning her eyes to pin him to his spot. Astoundingly, she didn't look mad. "We're not married yet and I know men have insatiable desires. Some of which I cannot provide you with yet, so... I understand."

He couldn't look at her and how forgiving she was. He didn't deserve that, he didn't deserve her empathy. They were betrothed, he could have attempted some restraint for her sake. If she knew that he had been to the brothel, how many more knew that he had a whore while engaged to the princess? Men would kill for this opportunity and he had thrown it back in her face by going to the establishment for a bit of pleasure. Even then, he hadn't felt anything other than discomfort when he had been with the strumpet.

"You shouldn't," Theon said gruffly, averting his eyes, bristling at the thought.

Cirilla reached over and touched her hand with his, leaning into his ear. "I may tolerate it now, but if you do this while we're married, I'll castrate you myself," her voice was sweet and kind and when she leaned back she gave him an adoring smile.

In spite of himself, Theon chuckled, a smirk overtaking him. "I expect nothing less."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hello everyone! I just wanted to thank everyone for their support and especially those who are so engaged by the story line. I really do appreciate honest reviews in regards to the plot and take them into consideration. I want to give a shout out to Magnus374 and WeylandCorp4 for their reviews and input, you guys are awesome!

If anyone has questions regarding characters, silly, serious, or curious, feel free to ask in reviews! Want to know what kind of faceclaim I had in mind for Ciri? Want to glean some information about the future? Please just ask away. Any questions that might contribute to the story in some part I'll even include in author notes at the beginning of chapters.

Without further ado, here's the latest chapter. Thanks!

\- Bitbasic

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CHAPTER SEVEN

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_Theon_

Thick verdant leaves shivered as a pack of riders flew beneath the canopies, trodding down the newest growth of vegetation on the game trail. For two days they had been tracking the boar, a beast that Theon hadn't been graced with hunting. He'd heard enough from Renly to know that what they were hunting was massive and dangerous. Hunters were gored by the enormous tusks and could kill a man who made the mistake of getting in its path when it charged. King Robert was filled with delight and forced his horse ahead, which lagged behind the others as it strained to keep up with the other steeds that had normal sized riders.

Hounds yipped and cried from their flanks, darting between the brush as they tried to flush the boar down a path in the woods. They had planned to corner it, juxtaposed by a ravine that it couldn't climb. Renly was to cover the only entrance, a winding and slick path leading down to a small stream made of multicolored river stones. Taking post, Renly dropped back and the rest of them skittered down the bank.

Now, Theon could see it for the first time. Hulking and squealing in fury, the boar could have been ridden by a man. Covered in coarse black hair, it trundled down toward the stream, stones spilling around it as its hooves depressed into the wet foundation. There was a cry of surprise and a whine from a horse and when Theon turned, heart hammering in his ears, he saw that Ser Barriston's mounted had slipped on the rocks and broken its leg. With his leg caught in the stirrup and the horse wailing in pain, the older Kingsguard struggled to get out of his saddle.

Spear in hand, Robert lobbed it, sending it flying with astounding accuracy. The flat blade pierced the tough hide of the creature, blood seeping from the wound. However, what may have stopped a deer, barely slowed the boar. Continuing to barrel down the ravine, Robert hollered for another spear, and the Lannister squire gave it to him. Adrenaline coursing through him, the king made another mark on the boar, but they were running out of space to run. Soon it would be cornered.

Theon's fingers flexed for his bow, uncertain of what would happen next. The boar reminded him of a bear, ferocious and large, needing the assistance of multiple men to fell. Pressed into the stony outcropping, the boar squealed in disbelief and wheeled around to stare at them. It would not accept its fate and die quietly. Ser Arys Oakheart was already on the ground, ushering it back with his spear. His eyes did not tear from the beast as he waited for Robert to dismount.

"Your grace, would you like to strike the final blow?" Ser Arys requested, raising his voice over the indignant cries of the boar snuffing.

By then Theon had dismounted and had his bow. What puny little arrows would do, he had no idea, but it was the best he could offer for now, having thrown his javelin much earlier without striking true. King Robert sidled forward, Theon could hear him trudging over the slick stone, his boots scrabbling against them.

"Here you are, ye bloody bastard," Robert taunted, leaning forward to jab at the cornered beast.

In the matter of a moment Theon saw it, the flash in the creature's eyes, the rippling of the corded muscle on its back and hindquarters. He loosed an arrow and ripped his dirk from his sheathe before King Robert of Ser Arys was aware of what was going on. The boar thundered forward, making a beeline for the king. The arrow whistled and struck true, taking the pig by the eye. Theon shoved the king out of the way, sending him careening to the ground and with a graceless thump, splashing into the shallow stream. Pain lanced up his arm as the boar plunged by him, sliding into the stones and falling limply to the ground.

In his hand, iron grip fingers were clenched around a shattered dirk and blood streamed down his forearm where his leather jerkin had been torn, flesh peeled back from the tusk of the boar. He was startled by it, watching as rivulets of blood pulsed from the wound and Robert struggled to his feet.

"Your grace, are you alright?" Ser Arys was helping the king to his feet, who was sputtering to himself about how he had the kill.

Renly charged down, his eyes wide and astounded, dismounting swiftly to check on Theon. "Your arm… I saw what happened," he grabbed his cloak and without an afterthought, ripped it with his skinning knife. The Baratheon had just begun applying pressure to Theon's wound, wrapping it as tightly as he could until they could make it back to King's Landing.

"Bloody cunt! I had him right in my sights," Robert roared.

Theon winced as the cloth was tied. "Your grace, you didn't see it-"

"See that I had a fucking spear ready to take it?" Robert bellowed angrily.

"Your grace, had Lord Theon not pushed you out of the way, you'd be tore open," Ser Barriston was striding up, wiping the blood from his horse on his trousers. "I saw from a few paces away. The boar was getting ready to charge and you didn't read it. The Greyjoy did and he acted."

Robert's eyes narrowed and he muttered something underneath his breath. "Even so…" he grumbled before hobbling over to where the boar had fallen. "Fucking good shot if I ever saw one," he commented, pulling the arrow from the beast's head, eye still attached. "According to the lord commander of my Kingsguard, I owe you not only my daughter, but my life Greyjoy. Remind me to take you everytime I hunt. Did a better job than my fucking white knights."

Theon was in too much pain to do much more than grunt in acknowledgement.

"We should get back to King's Landing. I'll ride with him, he's going to need to see a maester," Renly offered. "I can send some more horses and men to bring the boar back."

"Very well," Robert grumbled, inspecting the boar further. Ser Barriston swept over to him, speaking low in his ear, words that Theon could not hear.

"Are you alright to ride?" Renly asked Theon, pulling him up with his good hand.

"Yeah, just hurts like a bitch," Theon forced a grin through the pain and sauntered over to his horse, struggling to mount as he cradled his injured arm close. When he was finally up he followed Renly back up and out of the ravine.

"Looks like you're going to need a new blade," Renly jested, trying to make light of the situation. "Thank you for saving my brother. I know he didn't really seem to appreciate it, but he wouldn't have been able to move in time. I've seen boars run men over before, even with a spear shoved into their face as they charge down the one wielding it. Boar may die, but so does the spear wielder."

Theon shrugged. "It's what anyone would have done. He's the king."

"Not everyone," Renly informed him stoutly. "Not everyone likes the king if you catch my drift."

Theon tried to think of who that might be. Obviously Cersei didn't like him. They had a loveless marriage and that much was blatantly obvious, especially when he sat meals with the Baratheon family. He hoped the same wouldn't become of his arrangement. Eddard and Catelyn Stark were so close, despite being in an arranged marriage. But then again, his betrothed wasn't like Catelyn… but she also wasn't like Cersei. He wondered where she was and what she was up to.

_Ciri_

"Read em and weep boys," slamming down her royal flush on the table. Her opposers groaned, flipping their cards, revealing other solid hands, but none that could parry hers. Standing up, she swept her arms across the table, grinning to herself. It felt good being among the slums again. She had almost forgotten the surly looks she got, but the guards at the door knew her by look. Purposely, she'd picked a table that had several unfamiliar faces. There was no fun in robbing the same lowborn, but the regulars eyed her, knowing to habit other tables. The cheeseballs in front of her saw a woman and thought she'd taken a wrong turn.

One man, bald, frog faced, and podgy drew a knife and slammed it against the table rising in a fury. "What's with this fucking cunt? The hands were going fine until she showed up."

"I haven't won until that lot," Ciri shrugged, not feeling threatened in the slightest.

"And we weren't betting silver til you got here either!"

"Sore loser, aren't we?" Cirilla mused, a smile unfurling on her lips. "If you can't keep up with the bets, you shouldn't have gone all in."

"Woman's right, ain't her fault you fucking suck," one of the other players piped.

"Look, look, if you're that hung up on your poor hand, I'll give you your coin back," Ciri offered, her voice lilting in a slightly insulting manner.

The strike hit home and the bald man flushed darker.

"And generous," the man flanking Ciri commented.

Ciri counted out the coin, the silver stags slipping between her gloved fingers as she made a point to take an agonizing amount of time. Her hood had been pulled up. Between the dark lighting in the cellar, stench of sourleaf, scrutinizing of card and dice, no one could truly see beneath her cowl. They'd only been able to tell she was a woman by her voice and slight build. She'd donned men's attire that evening and wore a pair of daggers as warning for those who might try her.

Finally, she had completed and slid them back over to the man who was now fuming. "Is that better? Look now you can lose it all over again," she mused, stacking the coins, glancing at her freshly dealt cards. _Trash. _She folded and leaned back in her seat, kicking it back slightly so that she was balancing on the hind legs. This hand picked up and the bald man began throwing more silvers in. While she was not on this deal, she relaxed, glancing around the seedy bar. A few whores passed by to occupy the men that were taking a break from the games.

_I wonder if any of them look like the one Theon had, _she thought, uncertain why she was so rapt on the idea. She was playing with a coin, flipping it between her fingers as she lounged. What kind of woman did Theon want when he whored? Did he want one with big tits? One who was boyish? Blonde hair? Red hair? Maybe it didn't matter aside from the fact that they were fuckable.

"Gods fuck it!" the man screamed again, but instead of just a knife in the table, he flipped the table in his rage. "These fucking hands are fixed."

Ciri let her chair touch back down on the ground and snorted. Every so often bozos like this would ruin a perfectly good evening. "Why don't you go cry into some whore's teats and stop interrupting the game?" she asked him thinly, eyes around the bar were watching now, the lax atmosphere shattered by a man who couldn't hold his ale or coin. "Oh _wait_. You'd need silver to do that."

The bald man snarled and threw himself over the table, a predictable movement from how much Ciri had been demeaning him. Effortlessly, she swept up from her chair. He'd been a bit off in his aim anyways. Lifting the chair she smashed it over his back, the poorly made piece of furniture shattering over his back. With a loud huff he collapsed on the dirt cellar floor in a pile.

"Just going to let a lady do all the work?" Ciri asked, eyes scanning over the other men, who were scrabbling on the ground for the fallen silver that had been tossed when the man had turned the table. Her own proceeds were among what had been cast down, but it was such a meager amount of coin that she didn't care to fight for it. "Aw fuck, Gareth. You got anything other than ale that reeks like piss?" she approached the bar to the tender.

He was among those familiar with her shenanigans, eying the unconscious man dubiously. "Better knocked out than dead like the last man who tried something similar. I'll have Spudd take him out to the road," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I've got some cider. Consider it on the house for kindly dispatching that bald fuck."

A smile unfurled on her face. "Oh, how kind, you don't have to."

"It's good to see you back here. How was Winterfell?" Gareth asked, filling up a clean tankard for Ciri.

"_Huge. _Bigger than the Red Keep if you'd believe that. Northerners are certainly a different breed," she accepted the cider from Gareth. She didn't really drink when she was out, she preferred her wits were sharp. However, the cider wouldn't be too strong and she planned on being there for a while.

"I heard you've got a little northerner in you," Gareth said suggestively, giving her his gap tooth smile.

Ciri sputtered into her cup, the drink nearly coming out her nose. "Not yet," she told him hoarsely.

"Oh, but you've toyed with him right? I know you Ciri and you've got more lion in you than you're willing to admit. You play with your food before you eat it."

"Aw and everyone tells me how they only see the stag. Maybe I should marry you Gareth. You just know me so well."

"Gilded words that turn to nothing but ash. How am I supposed to spend ash?"

"You don't, you just enjoy it while it's gold," she remarked. The cider was very tart and bitter, but she supposed that was the tradeoff for being in Flea Bottom. "Spoken to Greta recently?"

"She's been busy sucking up to the High Septon," Gareth wiggled his brows.

"And people wonder why I'm not fond of the Seven. Surely there's someone better than that boy diddling fat fucker. He wears more jewelry than I do! Not to mention that preposterous crown of crystal, like he's some kind of king," she shook her head in disgust. Her family might have forced her into serving her faith to the Seven, but the corruption of the church was blatant. People just chose to ignore it. The High Septon was among the worst of them and she would have loved to stick him like the pig he was.

"Blessed be our savior, R'hllor, the Lord of Light," Gareth muttered beneath his breath, looking to the closest candle for salvation.

"The night is dark and full of terrors. Watch the shadows tonight, friend. I'll see you soon," she pushed the half-empty tankard to Gareth and stood up.

"May His light guide you, Ciri."

Rounding, the princess made her way toward the stairs leading out of the cellar, waving at Spudd as he was still trying to deal with the bald man, lolling in and out of consciousness. Outside the smell of her favorite hovel, The Pissing Pony, the fruits of Flea Bottom greeted her. Cirilla hopped over the slosh on the side of the road, turds floating among urine and water. Seemed like the sewers were in great, working conditions from the stink.

This late in the evening there were few who dared to walk the alleys of Flea Bottom. Those that did knew its twists and turns, which ends were dead, and which would lead you into the hands of a gang. Gold cloaks rarely patrolled these areas, especially at this time seeing they were likely to get shanked.

Rattling a cup with just a groat in it, a panhandler sat in a heap at the corner of the street. He wore only a torn linen trouser and smiled with a single rotted front tooth. Despite the hour, he continued to shake his tin cup in hope that someone would give him something.

"How's the crowds been tonight, Kip?" she asked the homeless man.

Kip narrowed his eyes and then smiled wide, baring his gums in the dim light. "Quiet tonight. Wouldn't go up that 'er road. Saw a group of skinheads with big swords. Drunk me thinks."

"Thank you, stay safe Kip," flicking to her fingers was the silver dragon she had been playing with in the cellar. "This should hold you over for a bit. Don't spend it on sourleaf." With a soft clink, she deposited it into Kip's cup and swept up the alternate path leading back to the Red Keep. Dark cloak fluttering behind her like a raven's wing, she kept to the shadows, sliding between them until she was out on the main cobbled road.

The Red Keep was closed up in the evening, portcullis shut, and cunts guarding it. Removing her gloves, Cirilla shot a shrill whistle to draw the attention of the gold cloaks. One loomed into view, one that she didn't recognize. _Fuck. This is going to be a process, _she thought irritably, stepping closer to the portcullis gate. "Let me in, it's Princess Cirilla."

The gold cloak lobbed an insolent look at her. "And I'm fucking the queen. Piss off."

"Are you really? Interesting. Glad she's getting it from somewhere, might brighten her mood. Just don't put a babe in her belly, because you'd have to explain that to my father," Cirilla retorted. "Who is on shift with you?"

"Not your fucking business," the guard told her.

Gripping the portcullis she bared her teeth in a menacing smile. "Who the fuck is it? Because they might be able to confirm I'm the goddamn princess."

"Bywater," he muttered.

"Fetch him so that he can reave you a new fucking asshole for not letting me in," Ciri snarled.

The gold cloak departed and she leaned against the gate, inspecting her daggers before hearing the sound of approaching footsteps. Ser Jacelyn Bywater was among the better of the gold cloaks. About half of the bastards were corrupt and controlled by her mother, but Bywater was reliable and never gave her problem. Lowering her hood, she gave him a wry smirk and shrugged her shoulders.

"You didn't recognized the eldest princess?" Ser Jacelyn asked his fellow cloak.

The other gold cloak began sputtering. "W-what is she doing out at night?"

"Not our business to be asking. Your highness, please," using a set of keys, Bywater unlocked the small door that was set in the portcullis and allowed her in. "I'll see that all of our men, new or old recruits, are familiar with the faces of our royal family."

"How kind of you Ser Bywater. I really do appreciate it," she flashed him a smile and stalked across the courtyard. Her night on the town had been a little fruitless. She'd have to find a way to get in contact with Greta. The rogue's interest in the High Septon meant that she had managed to wiggle her slimy self into the Sept somehow. Cirilla wanted to know why and to what end.

She had only just entered the Red Keep when a steward beelined to her. Narrowing her eyes, she observed him, this was one of Varys. "What do you want?" she asked thinly, not really wanting to be bothered by the webs the spider was weaving. Not at this hour at least.

"My lord wished to inform you that your betrothed was injured today," the steward told her, trying to keep up with her long strides.

"What? What did he do?" Last she had seen of Theon, he'd gone hunting with her father, uncle, and some of the Kingsguard.

"Saved the king and felled a boar. However, he sustained injuries in the process."

"And where is he now?"

"Resting in his chambers."

"Bloody idiot," she grumbled, changing her path to seek out Theon's room. Saved her father? Sounded like he was hunting drunk again in spite of Ciri's warnings that it would put him in an early grave. Now, Theon had been trying to play hero and had gotten himself hurt. Not that she wasn't thankful that her father wasn't dead, seeing that Joffrey would be reigning, but she still thought her betrothed wasn't thinking when he acted.

Finally, she made it to where his rooms were situated, rapping heavily on the door, uncertain if he had gone to sleep to aid in healing his wound. She nearly had her ear pressed to the door, listening for movement, when it swung open and Theon stood with his arm in a sling. He was a bit paler than she recalled, but was walking without issue. His dark eyes bore into her with a plain expression before his lips twisted up in a bemused smirk.

"Oh, my sweet betrothed is finally here to check on me," he feigned swooning and let her in past him.

"I leave you alone for a couple of days and you've gone and injured yourself. Men really are hopeless without a woman guiding them, aren't they?" she shook her head at him, glancing at the fresh bandages. "How bad was it?"

"Just a flesh wound. Pycelle stitched it up and said I probably sustained a hairline fracture, but it was miniscule. Should be good for the tourney in a few weeks," he reported, glancing down at his bum arm. "Hm, that's an outfit I haven't seen you in yet." His eyes swept over her in the same manner as they did when she wore a dress, but there was something lethargic and slow about him.

When her eyes scanned the room, she saw the small milky vial on the bedside table and then turned her eyes back to Theon. "You're an idiot," she informed him. "Get back into bed and get some rest. You probably lost a good amount of blood. Would explain why you're so pale."

"You going to tuck me in?" Theon sauntered over to his bed and sat on the edge.

"Before I do, mind telling me exactly what happened?"

"Mmm, for a price."

"I could just wait and ask my uncle. He was there too."

"Alright, alright," Theon pat the stop beside him on the bed. Humoring him, she sat beside him. "Three of us had it cornered. Ser Arys had it pinned on one side, I the other. Your father had the front. I've hunted a lot of animals and backing the dangerous ones into a corner is never good. I know that's typical boar hunting, but standing right in front of it… I read it, saw that it was about to charge. I loosed and arrow and shoved your father out of the way. He wouldn't have been quick enough to react. A cut on the arm is a small price to pay for the life of a king."

"My father probably didn't like that," she smiled to herself, imagining his fury. He always took hunting so seriously.

"He was pissed. At least until Ser Barriston vouched for my actions. His horse had broken its leg some feet back and he had a good view of what happened."

"Well, even if my father doesn't get around to it, I'll thank him for you," she bent forward and pressed her lips to Theon's, the first leeway she had given him since Winterfell, which was more than two months passed. Theon might have been taken aback at first, but he leaned into her hungrily, his good arm snaking around her back and pulling her closer.

"Ow, ow-" he had pulled her into his injured arm.

Breaking off, she snickered in his face, planting another on his mouth before standing up. Licking her lips she could taste the sweetness of the Milk of Poppy still on him. Theon narrowed his eyes, as if not content with what she had given him. "The king could show a little more gratitude…" he drawled.

"You're Ironborn aren't you? Take it from me," she challenged, but she knew that the potion was kicking into gear. He went to rise and with little effort, she placed a palm on his muscular chest, feeling his hot skin through the thin cotton shirt. She shoved him back, sending him sprawling back onto the bed. "Go to sleep stupid."

Theon remained laying on the bed. "Where did you go dressed like that?" he wondered.

"To talk to some friends," she grinned, blowing out a few candles before she left Theon to himself.

_Theon _

He awoke to the curtains fluttering and sunlight flooding over him. His arm ached, but it wasn't in pain. Sitting up, he blinked away the bleariness and cracked his neck. His brain was a little scattered, but Cirilla had come to visit him, checking on him. With the fog clearing from his head, he recalled how she had been dressed. Boiled leather trousers, a skin tight leather jerkin, a green blouse underneath, gloved fingers, and a cloak as dark as her hair. Daggers had been at her waist and he knew she'd probably gone out into Flea's Bottom. She had mentioned her gambling escapades a few times, but never delved into her hobbies. He had thought that dresses looked good on her, but the way the leather clung to her curves, the dangerous look in her eyes… He'd gotten more rise from her in men's clothes than dresses.

Theon touched his lips, recalling the feeling of hers on his, how it had brought him out of his drug induced stupor. For a maiden, she certainly knew how to kiss.

He was just rolling over in bed when someone knocked on his door. Hopeful that it was Cirilla there for an early morning greeting, he sprang to his feet, reeling slightly as the blood rushed to his head. But when he answered it he frowned, greeted by Renly.

"I know, probably not the Baratheon you were hoping to see," Renly jested, giving him a quick look over. "But, you've been summoned to the throne room. It's about noon right now, dress nicely."

_What? _"Just a moment," he grumbled, closing the door so he could stumbled into an outfit. He loathed having to unfurl his arm to put it through a sleeve, the movement sending rivets of pain shooting up to his elbow. Pycelle had mentioned something about not moving it too much, but he didn't know how he was supposed to get his clothes on without doing so. Upon joining Renly again, he was escorted through a rather quiet set of halls. He wondered where everyone was, usually there were nobles milling around, casting judgmental glances, following him through the ornate passageways with leery expressions, muttering under their breaths about an Ironborn in their midst. They were pompous fuckers. As if living in the Red Keep rather than their own pitiful and tiny manses was better than having the whole of the Iron Islands.

Theon set the idle thoughts aside, he'd tried not to let them ruffle his feathers. _You're Ironborn… Take it, _fragments of the words spoken last night slipped into his head, his breathing heavy in his ears as they approached the throne room. He had spent little time there and it glimmered in its marble opulence before him. A long ornate carpet ran across the stone and back toward the Iron Throne, which was situated on a dias. Made of thousands of swords pieced together, it hardly looked comfortable. At that hour, filtering in through the stained glass, the sunlight illuminated the steel, casting fractal reflections on the many people waiting in the Great Hall.

King Robert was seated in his throne, his girth filling the seat just as beer did a tankard, sloshing over slightly with foam. Flanking him, aside from his Kingsguard, was Queen Cersei and Eddard Stark. The royal children were not on the dias, but among the front left crowd. Sansa flanked Cirilla, Joffrey just spitting distance away his hound casting an imposing shadow over him.

"Approach the throne, Theon Greyjoy," King Robert thundered, his fingers tightening on the arms of the throne.

_What did I do? _He almost felt as if he were walking to his execution. His eyes slipped to Cirilla, hoping for a glint, just a gleam of what he should expect. Again, she was radiant, adorned in a more… modest gown. And when he thought it was modest, it still had a deep plunging neckline. However, it also had capped sleeves and didn't have an open back, the structured brocade imprinted with golden stags. This was a semi-formal outfit compared to her Dornish silks. She gave him a small nod, Sansa touching her arm eagerly and whispering in her ear.

When Theon's legs had finally brought him to the throne, he forced himself to a knee, though the process still always seemed rather to demeaning to him. He was not given permission to rise and so, Theon remained where he was, aware that more than a hundred pairs of eyes were watching him.

"In declaration of our liege, King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and His Grace Ser, Theon Greyjoy is hereby knighted in the sight of the Gods and Men for his loyalty to the crown. Had Theon Greyjoy not selflessly thrown himself into peril, knocking aside his grace, it is entirely possible that our king may not stand here today. In gratitude for his quick actions and service, Theon of House Greyjoy is now assigned the title of Ser," Eddard Stark announced, reading from a long piece of parchment.

Theon's eyes could have smote the ground. He had thought that King Robert was livid, barely thankful that Theon's actions had caused him the kill of the boar they had been hunting. He had never expected to be handed a knighthood for it. Knighthood was typically a religious matter, something that those from the green lands and followers of the Seven took part in. Up north, knighting was different, but he knew that knights in the south often were anointed by the Seven Oils and it was done at a Sept.

_Eddard would have known I don't follow the Faith, _Theon realized, thus the reason for the less formal summoning. Still, even if he was to become a lord one day, having the title of knight was handy.

King Robert rose from his chair and took the sword that was offered. Being such a hulking creature, the king had little issue bringing it forward and touching it to Theon's shoulder. "Theon Greyjoy do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

_Liege lord? _His eyes flickered to Eddard again and he noticed something about his warden. There was a look he'd never seen on his long face… almost like pride. "I do, your grace."

King Robert lifted the sword and touched it to his left shoulder. "Then you may rise, Ser Theon Greyjoy."

Pushing off his knee, Theon stood to the din of applause echoing in the cavernous hall. All these spectators, watching as an Ironborn earned a knighthood. Many probably thought it a cruel joke, strange that the king would prefer to keep one of their filthy ilk so close. But the manner in which he dressed and carried himself… He wondered if they thought Ironborn really looked like him. He knew if he were to stand among his own people they'd taunt him for wearing attire he'd paid the gold price for. Still, being in King's Landing, having a knighthood would elevate him further.

Robert gave a firm look, but a hint of a smile hid beneath his thick beard. No malice remained from what had occurred in the hunt the previous day. _I wonder if Eddard suggested this or if it was his idea. _

Once the king had departed, the crowd began milling and a few demure maids of southron houses he did not recognize came by to congratulate him. They were perhaps shy of a handful of years younger than him, but he assumed that his title as an Ironborn drew them in. If an Ironborn could get a knighthood then his kind certainly must not be too bad? He tried not to enjoy the attention too much, but who was he kidding? Theon loved basking in the glory, the girls asking about what had happened and how his arm was faring. They were considerably more concerned than his betrothed, but they also were little more than children.

Finally, once the unfamiliars passed, Theon was approached by Sansa. "I can't believe. Never would I have thought-"

He grinned at the girl, dolled up with her hair twisted in the southron fashion. He found the style to be rather… odd, preferring simpler styles or just loose hair. But Sansa had dreamed of being in the green lands, being around knights and gilded courtyards. "That I'd become a knight?"

Sansa's cheeks flushed, as if she shouldn't have said such a thing. But it was true. Theon wasn't exactly what she had imagined of knights. Perhaps he was good looking, but he could be impulsive and arrogant. A knight was supposed to be kind, courteous, and charming. He might have possessed the charming part in doses, though it was counteracted by his tendencies to be a womanizer.

"It was only fair," Joffrey shrugged, nonchalant about the entire ordeal. "My father's own Kingsguard should have been the ones to take the blow. Their incompetence nearly cost him his life if not for… _Ser _Theon. I say that Arys Oakheart's knighthood should have been taken away to pay for Theon's."

The boy hadn't been there, Arys wouldn't have made it to Robert in time. "You weren't there Joffrey," Cirilla's voice came up behind her brother and she glanced down upon him. "Ser Arys may not have been in a position to help. Have you hunted boar before?"

"I've helped track them," Joffrey narrowed his eyes.

"But you've never been face to face with one. Until you see the fury in its eyes and decide to put yourself between father and the beast, do not presume," she chided lightly, the princeling only growing sulkier.

"I don't know what a woman would know about hunting," Joffrey grumbled before turning away, not wishing to keep in the company of Cirilla.

Ciri's blue eyes trailed him with a bored appearance. "Always has to try and dampen the mood wherever he goes," she muttered, Sansa trailing after her beloved prince. "I suppose a congratulations are due for your knighthood, _ser._"

"You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?" Theon asked as she took his good arm and started out of the Great Hall.

"Me? No, I didn't learn you were injured until I visited you. Certainly not enough time to put the idea in my father's head. I also wouldn't have suggested it because it'd only do to feed your ego."

"_My _ego?"

"Here now, I've come to escort the princess. I'm Theon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands," she was trying to replicate his voice on the eve they had first met and he'd escorted her to the feast at Winterfell. "Now you've got knighthood to add to the retinue. I'll never hear the end of it," she shook her head.

"You're right, you won't. From now on I'd prefer if you'd refer to me as Ser Theon," he smirked.

Ciri rolled her eyes. "Very well, _ser._ I'll just make certain I see a whole lot less of you."

"You couldn't stay away from me that long," Theon purred in her ear, hoping that his closeness would draw a few stares. They were betrothed, small signs of affection weren't scandalous, even if Ciri made a point to keep their personal exchanges private. He thrived on the idea that others would become jealous.

"I survived without you for 19 years, I think I could go a while longer," she retorted, but he noticed a touch of pink on her sun kissed cheeks.

They had been walking through the halls of the Red Keep when someone halted in front of them, putting a stopper to their conversation. Theon's high, from being knighted and having the attention of his lady, plummeted and he glared at the man now blocking their path. He was a handsome fellow, tall and broad, with short cropped sandy hair and a carefully kept beard. Brown eyes regarded them both. Theon didn't know him, but he supposed Ciri did.

"Well done, ser, and congratulations. It is very rare that Ironborn become knights. An honor it must be. Few people would have done as you did," the man said. "I'd shake your hand, but…" his eyes trailed to the sling that Theon's arm was in. A smirk curled at the corners of his lips and a spiteful look flashed in his eyes.

"Thank you, ser…" Theon trailed off, waiting for a name.

"Ryam Redwyne," he greeted, eyes slipping over to Cirilla. "And how do you fare, your highness? I see you are getting along rather well with your betrothed. You must ecstatic for his knighthood."

"Oh, _very," _her voice was dripping with sarcasm and her fingers tightened on his arm, sinking into his doublet. "My father picked a wonderful man to be my husband. And thank goodness he did. Imagine if Theon hadn't been there. It's almost as if the Seven willed it to be."

"Yes, I can only fathom the disarray the kingdom would be in without its beloved king," Ser Ryam replied dryly. "Well, I won't keep you two much longer. Ser Theon, I do hope to see you in the tourney if you've healed in time."

"I will ride the tourney, we Ironborn are resilient. A small wound like this won't prevent me from entering," Theon told him brazenly, lowering his dark gaze to level a glare at the man. He may have been tall, but Theon had enough height to level with him.

"I am eager to see how an Ironborn rides. Have a good day," he paused to give Ciri a small and polite bow, but when his eyes turned up there was nothing but a mocking rancor reflected in them.

When the knight had disappeared, Theon turned to gaze at Cirilla's who countenance was twisted and furious. "What was that about?" he asked, feeling just as slighted.

"I warned you that there were suitors who would be jealous. And that fucker was at the top of the list," she muttered in a low, dangerous voice. "I _hate _him."

Hate was a strong word, but he felt the heat of rage as she clung to him tightly, not realizing that her fingers were digging into his skin. _Then if you hate him, I hate him too._


End file.
